Adverse Events S3
by lost0and0found
Summary: The personal and professional paths of four young doctors cross and adverse events ensue. An 'Adverse Events' and 'Adverse Events Continued' sequel. AU Lit.
1. Wake Up

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N : Here we go with sequel - game on :)**

 *** To anyone who hasn't read the previous two parts of this story - 'Adverse Events' and 'Adverse Events Continued' - this is AU Lit where Jess and Rory are doctors. If you're interested in AU Lit in a hospital setting - give these stories a shot, links for the 1st and 2nd part are in my profile :)**

 **First chapter includes references to Daughter's songs 'The End' and 'Medicine' - because your feedback and creative discussion takes a huge part in writing this story :)**

 **Hope you enjoy another roller-coaster ride of this story, starting now :)**

* * *

 _Wake up... wake up... wake up._

Rory Gilmore opened her eyes and took a deeper breath, expanding her chest. The warm body beside her moved too.

The black Labrador nuzzled her neck and his wet nose left a warm trail over her cheek.

Rory made an effort to get her numb limbs to move, hardly taking the bed covers off as she sat into the bed. Her head felt heavy. Stuffed. Like some thick haze had fogged her brain, making it hard for her thoughts to communicate. Her mind was working on short glimpses of awareness lately, unable to concentrate, drifting from one moment to another on autopilot. She kind of got used to it.

Cerberus jumped off the bed and padded away. Not long after he returned with her slippers into his muzzle and dropped them at the side of the bed, right before her feet.

She stood sitting at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor where her slippers stood. The floor seemed to get further away, reminding her of dark muddy waters. An uneasy feeling stirred in her chest. Then she felt Cerberus' muzzle over her bare sole nuzzling, pushing. He woofed once, looking up at her expectantly. Rory blinked, wishing the grogginess away.

There was a thumping sound coming from the front door. Then Tristan Dugray's voice.

'Morning, Rory.' A pause. Then, more tentatively. 'I brought you breakfast. Paris and Helen say hi, they are gonna pass by after work, bring you dinner.' A longer pause. 'Paris says you have to turn your phone on, it's getting harder and harder to keep your mother from intervening. She told Paris that if she doesn't hear from you until this weekend she's coming over. Paris said she sounded creepily determined...'

This pause stretched on longer. When Tristan spoke again, his voice sounded less cheery and more resigned.

'I'm gonna drive Aiden to school and then head to work... I'll come back tomorrow morning okay?'

In a while the awareness of his presence died away along with his departing steps.

Outside the city was up and alive, a mid-September sun rising higher in a cloudless sky. Light was streaming through the bedroom windows, giving the room an ephemeral glow. Dust particles floated in the sunlight before her eyes, dispersing at each exhale.

She'd been distracted. Withdrawn. That's what the Chief said when he requested she took a few days off. Days turned into weeks and she stopped counting. Without the constant need to concentrate over work now she reeled through her days, her mind lacking purpose. The numbness dulled all emotion. All that was left was weariness.

She looked at the floor again. Where her slippers were. They seemed so far away. She lay back into the bed, covering herself with the duvet overhead.

On her night table there were her keys, her turned off mobile and an unopened bottle of antidepressant. And a letter, its edges dog-eared from being read too many times. It was an informative letter that had St Mary's Neurosurgery logo over it, saying Mr Jess Mariano who had been admitted into their brain surgery ward had requested she was informed he'd gone through surgery and made it alive. The letter said Mr Mariano was still unconscious at the time the letter was sent but had specifically asked that she'd know the result as soon as the surgery was over. It also said that Mr Mariano's recovery period would probably take a couple of weeks and did she wish to visit him she could contact them back and enlist for their visiting hours. She didn't go to visit. Didn't have it in her to call back either. Instead, she turned off her phone. Somehow, after the initial relief, along came an overwhelming numbness. The Chief was right, she had become withdrawn. She had been too invested anyway. In her patients. In her friends. In life in general. Being too invested hurt too much. She shut her phone, shut her door and she shut her mind. And spent her days gliding over the surface of awareness. She needed to rest. She was so tired. God, she was so damn tired.

* * *

Rory opened her eyes. The afternoon sun shone low over the horizon, warming her skin. The black Labrador rose from the foot of the bed and leaned over her, licking the back of her hand. He was probably hungry. Rory closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the autumn sun and the furry head against her skin. Then opened them and sat into the bed, taking the covers away.

She got off the bed and slipped on her slippers, heading towards the bathroom with Cerberus at her heel. When she returned into the bedroom, she had jeans and a loose tee on. She stopped before her night table, looking at its contents.

 _Pick it up, pick it all up. And start again._

She took the letter that bore St Mary's Hospital logo on and gave it a last look before she tore it in half and dropped into the trash bin next to the window. Then she took her keys that were lying on the night table next to the unopened bottle of antidepressant and said,

'Come on, Cerberus, we're done here.'

She threw a sideways glance out through the window where a day was rolling off but wasn't over yet.

'We're going out.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	2. No Harm

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Alas. Song lyrics used below belong to Ingrid Michaelson. _

**A/N: Such a hard chapter to write. And now I'm dying to know what you think, so if you leave a review that would make me insanely happy :) Feedback is bliss!**

* * *

Do no harm. This is the first principle of medicine. Do no harm. When a patient trusts you with themselves, when they're vulnerable in your hands, always look that what you do doesn't cause more harm than benefit.

Jess Mariano was standing before the apartment building, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun with his hand. Being back felt strange, the surroundings around him, now clearly visible, looked both familiar and new. He felt a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension looking at the place where he had spent the happiest three years of his life. The short conversation he'd had with Paris two weeks ago was playing over and over in his head.

 _Good, you're alive._

 _Good to meet you too, Paris... Paris... are you crying?_

 _Are you still blind or just dumb? Just give me a minute okay? For a week I wasn't sure if you were dead or alive, so just give me a break and I'll be back to my bitchy self._

 _O-kay._

 _Okay, I'm good now. You gonna come back?_

 _What?_

 _To work. To New York. Are you gonna come back?_

 _Ehm, yeah. Why wouldn't I?_

 _I honestly don't know what to expect from you these days. Anyway, I came here to warn you._

 _Warn me?_

 _You've used all of your fuck-ups okay? One more and she's not gonna get through it without professional help._

 _What do you mean?_

 _I'm gonna go now, leave ambiguously and let you think. Remember, no more fuck-ups. Be good or be gone, she has been through enough as it is. And just for the record, I'm glad you're alive. I'm still mad at you for pulling all those obscene stunts but I'm glad you're alive. Bye, Jess.  
_

 _Wait. Paris... Paris!_

If he didn't have numerous iv lines into his arms, he would've followed her. Ambiguous Paris. Who would guess.

* * *

 _~ Everybody wants the one to make them live forever_  
 _And nobody wants to be the only one to say they can't ~_

The sound of his voice brought a sinking feeling into her stomach and she stopped midstep. Rory froze and closed her eyes, letting the sound envelope her, shield her from reality for just a moment, an encapsuled moment where her every atom was missing him. _You've been there_ , a small voice spoke at the back of her mind. _So many times, you've been there. And look at what happened last time._

She couldn't bring herself to move. She knew he must be at the foot of the stairs, she could hear his voice talking to Cerberus. She had gone out of her apartment letting the dog run ahead, thinking Cerberus was simply excited for his morning walk. Who would guess the dog had gotten the notion that his master was back. Rory wanted to just turn and go. Maybe she would gather the strength to, had Jess not appeared at the foot of the stairs, a couple of steps down from her. If possible, she froze even more. She wanted to disintegrate, move in time and space, be anywhere but here facing the man who had the power to build her up and ruin her with alarming ease.

His hair was short. It had been shaven off for the surgery three weeks ago. He had the head bandage off. Yet she couldn't help but imagine him after the surgery, lying unconscious, the mechanical respiratory support beside his head, iv lines disappearing into his arms, keeping him alive. Sometimes she had those nightmares where he was dying because his respiratory support was off. And she tried and tried to move in her sleep but her limbs were paralized, and she cried for help, helpless as the monitors beeped and the man she loved died. In one of her dreams, Jess suddenly opened his eyes, and there was a wicked gleam in them, as if he were mocking her because of her inadequacy.

She stood straighter, trying to supress a rising feeling of nauseating unease, the same feeling of helplessness that had taken over her that morning when she found he was gone, three weeks ago.

Their eyes met. Seeing each other for the first time in half a year. And his look didn't bear mockery. It bore adoration. Hope. Hers bore fear. Distrust.

'Rory...' he pronounced as if the very mention of her name was some precious discovery. She felt sick.

'I...' he took a steadying breath and paused, seemingly enthralled by the sight of her. Like a kid looking at Santa, he looked... mesmerized. 'I tried to call you but your mobile was off,' he finished on an exhale.

'Did you ever think about me while you were doing this?' she managed to voice.

Jess looked a little confused.

'I...'

Rory rose a forefinger to stop him.

'Don't you dare pull that bullshit about doing this for us. You did it because you couldn't get over yourself.'

Okay, so they were doing this. They were jumping directly into the deep stuff. Jess licked a lip and made a step forward, going up a couple of steps towards her. Rory stepped back up, keeping the distance.

'Rory, I never meant to...'

'Why did you come back, Jess?' she cut him short.

'I came back to make this right.'

 _Hit me with your worst accusations, I deserve them. I didn't come back to feel regret though. I'm over that, I overdid it last couple of months. I'm not here to apologise, I'm here to do anything it takes to make this right._

She took a sharp breath and felt her eyes well up.

'You almost killed yourself before my eyes,' she wailed, her voice rising and breaking.

He looked at her with wide eyes, struck by the intensity of her emotion. Her eyes were blazing and sparkling with tears. She rubbed them fiercely with the back of her hand.

'Did you know I was the one who found you in your office, lying unconscious beside the intubation set?' she hissed, willing her voice to even. 'I stood paralyzed as the reanimation team passed me by, thinking if this was how I was gonna lose you. I had to stand there and watch you die because I was so terrified, I couldn't make myself move and get the intubation tube into your lax larynx.'

She paused and took another steadying breath, shaking her head. Then looked down and let out a derisive laugh.

'When you said you wanted Liz to account for all the times she messed up, that's how you felt.'

Jess looked at her as if she'd slapped him with the words.

'Now I know the feeling,' she said in a sad whisper.

Thanks to you.

'You left me behind, Jess. You distracted yourself from me and never once thought how risking yourself hurt me. Do you know how I wished that you hadn't shielded me when Noah Stanford shot, that I was the one the bullet took?'

She paused, willing her hands to stop shaking. For what it was worth, Jess looked as hurt as she felt.

'I've given you everything,' she sighed resignedly. 'I have nothing left to give. And I mean this, Jess. Leave me alone.'

Rory turned to go back up the stairs and Cerberus started after her. The dog had made it halfway up the stairs to the next floor when he turned back to look at Jess. As if asking permission, the Labrador looked torn between following Rory and staying with him. Jess gave him a silent nod and the dog continued up the stairs after the love of his life, leaving him to wonder if he had managed to fuck up completely.

 _~ Now go on and drift away_  
 _The tide can hold you out_  
 _Go quiet now_  
 _Go sound go safe_  
 _Open hands are hard to hold onto anyway ~_

* * *

Do no harm. When someone trusts you with themselves, do no harm. When someone's vulnerable in your hands, do no harm. When someone asks you to not hurt them, do no harm. In medicine - this is the one principle you better never dismiss. In medicine, it's a must. But in love it probably is too, even more so.

* * *

The Chief's office was quiet saved for the Chief's calm voice.

'I'll have to arrange for someone to fill in for me while I'm gone. Yeah, I know it's just for a couple of weeks, but I still have to assign my duties as Chief to one of my staff surgeons. As a matter of fact, I have someone in mind. Yeah, I'll get back to you as soon as I have an answer.'

The chief put his mobile down onto his desk and pushed a button on the intercom.

'Get me through to Mariano. I need to talk to him about something of great importance.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	3. Back

_Disclaimer : Unfortunately, still nothing's mine._

* * *

Rory Gilmore had surrounded herself with a force field. He could feel it every time they stumbled upon each other in the hospital. It didn't happen a lot. She probably avoided him. And when their paths did cross, if their looks did meet, hers was guarded. Yeah, Rory Gilmore had surrounded herself with a force field. It was powered by doubt and hurt and it pained Jess to see her like that because he knew he was the one who had put those feelings there. However, moping around, grovelling and asking for forgiveness while showering in self-blame wasn't what Jess Mariano was gonna go for. No. His plans were much different.

He fought the initial urge to approach her. Because he believed Paris when she told him he had no more place for fuck-ups. If he was gonna do this, he had to do it right. And he was so doing this. But while before all of this, when things between them were much more simple, Jess had success taking the lead, probing his luck, he couldn't go on acting on impulse this time. He had lost her trust and pushing his luck was only gonna drive her further away. No grand gestures. No grovelling. No pushing her to do something she wasn't ready for. He had to come up with a plan. And, for this, he had to give it some serious thought.

So Jess Mariano, King of Moodiness and Impulse, spent many hours thinking his situation with his ex-girlfriend (the concept still made him cringe) over, doing his best to see it, for once, from her point of view. Finally, he formed a game plan and although he didn't like the possibility of never getting things back to where they used to be, he felt satisfied with the implication behind it. The more time passed, the better he felt about his resolution. It had taken him a little more than a week but he preferred to give Rory time. Time to adjust to having him around again. Time to put some order into his own head.

'Hey,' he stepped from foot to foot in front of her apartment building. 'Can I talk to you?'

Rory's steps slowed to a halt as she approached the front steps from the street. Cerberus ran forward, letting out a joyful woof.

'You need to stop doing this,' she said with a weary sigh.

Jess patted Cerberus' silky head as the dog jumped all over him, climbing his front paws up to his chest.

'I will only be a minute, I promise. I wanna establish something from the beginning.'

He saw the sarcasm as she huffed. She had some thin white blouse and some flowery silk scarf on, matched with jeans and ballerinas. Her hair was tousled from the autumn wind and she swept a hand through it tryig to tame it. God, she was so beautiful. Jess had to mentally slap himself in order to get back to business instead of drool all over her and give in to overwhelming pangs of nostalgia.

'I mean the beginning of this new routine,' he said gesturing between them with amazing calmness despite the rising tide of emotions. 'We're gonna see each other, and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.'

Another gust of wind swept past them and she shivered, rising a hand to smooth her hair down.

'Well great,' she rolled her eyes, 'that coming from the graciousness of your heart means really a lot, Jess.'

He smiled a small smile, as if he'd expected her to react just like that.

'I'll try and get this out without sounding smug,' he said calmly, seeking her look. She seemed to hesitate between avoiding his eyes and rolling her eyes sarcastically. 'Okay, so...' he took a breath and his eyes sought hers even more insistently, 'I am here and I'm all in. And I don't mean this just for the sake of getting old times back, I mean I am ready to answer all your questions if you have any, and I will do my best to open up and really talk to you whenever you feel ready to do this. I don't want you to feel bad whenever I'm around.'

'Because it pains you,' Rory snided.

'Well, this too, but more because it pains you. I mean this, Rory. I still know you, and if you wanna reach a peace of mind, you need to let the hurt I inflicted go.'

She looked around wetting her lips.

'You gonna say you're sorry now or do you have any more profound stuff to say?'

'I haven't prepared a speech, Rory,' he sighed with a wary smile. 'I don't know what the right words to approach you are. But I'm gonna stick around long enough and find them. An apology is due but you don't deserve some half-assed I'm sorry. You're gonna get it when it will feel true. For now, if you wanna talk, I'll be around.'

Great. Now he was a specialist in what she did and did not deserve.

'You're right. You do sound smug.'

With that she turned to go and after a moment's hesitation Cerberus followed her with a last lick over Jess' palm.

* * *

Being Chief sucked, Jess thought. Being temporary Chief sucked even more because everyone came telling you about their problems while at the same time trying to inflict their own solutions on you. So far, he had spent the afternoon explaining the air conditioning problem to the maintenance guy, arguing about the need of working UPS with the medical supply guy, as well as doing his best to ignore the fervent speech of syndicate representative guy about sexual relationships between colleagues being a violation of work ethics. One of the hospital accountants had just come screaming into his office, threw a bunch of balance sheets on to his desk and after less than a minute during which he tried to handle her in a civilized, levelled way, left his office in a rush, slamming the door on her way out. So yeah. Being temporary Chief sucked.

The door slammed open. Jess let a breath out through his nose slowly, then spoke through his teeth.

'Janice, I swear - if you slam the door one more time the only paper I'm gonna sign will be your resignation form.'

'I don't know who Janice is,' Paris said.

Jess looked up from the papers he'd been beating his brain at.

'Martinez has the flu and can't cover the night shift. I have one more jejunostomy before the nanny starts calling but have no assisting surgeon. Here's what I come up with - I asked Dugray to go handle the nanny talk and take Aiden to play date with Josh until I'm finished here, you're scrubbing in with me as first assistant because after six months and two brain surgeries there's no way I'm letting you operate unattended. I called the day shift and he's coming early to cover for Martinez.'

Jess blinked twice before he grabbed the keys to his locker with a wide grin.

'Let me change into my scrubs.'

Finally. Some real work.

'You would've made some Chief,' he said on his way out.

Paris rolled her eyes and put the surgical cap back onto her head, tying it at the back.

'Tell me about it.'

They walked in the corridor leading to the locker room.

'How long before the Chief is back?' Paris asked.

Jess sighed.

'A week.'

'Longest week of your life?' she smirked giving him a sideways glance.

They approached the locker room.

'You miss the OR, don't you?'

'You have no idea.'

'Hurry up,' she nodded towards the locker room. 'We have gut that needs cutting and a kid who needs his bedtime story waiting. Fourth, meet me in five.'

Jess' grin grew wider.

'Hallelujah.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	4. Easier To Breathe

**Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.**

* * *

He caught up with her in the corridor leading towards the OR.

'I wanna talk to you about something.'

She paced herself faster.

'No.'

'You don't know what it's about.'

'Ask me if I care.'

'It's about Cerberus.'

She stopped and let out a strained sigh.

'What about him?'

'I wanna join you for walks every second weekend.'

'What?.' her look conveyed clear disbelief. 'Are you insane?'

He shrugged as if he were challenging her to continue. When she didn't, he chewed on his lip with a sideways smile before seeking her look again.

Was he trying to be charming? Oh boy.

'He's still my dog too.'

She rolled her eyes.

'And you proved to be unreliable. You have been missing so parental rights automatically go to the one taking actual care of the dog.'

'All I ask for is visiting rights.'

'Seeing you under the circumstances and having to watch you leave will only further hurt his feelings.'

'In time he'll know it's safe to place his trust in me again. I'm not going anywhere.'

Their eyes locked into a silent battle and he ended it with a sigh.

'I don't wanna fight with you, Rory.'

'Duh. Captain Obvious.'

'I mean that. I'm not gonna press it.'

'Sure.'

'You can have Cerberus, indefinitely. I know you take good care of him.'

She narrowed her eyes, studying him.

'Will you stop looking at me like that?'

'Like what?'

'Like a lovesick puppy.'

'I'll try,' he smirked. 'What about now?' he looked at her again.

'Nope. Still there. You're violating breakup etiquette.'

'What about that - I'll try to beware breakup etiquette and you give my visiting rights plea a thought. No pressure.'

Rory rolled her eyes.

'But I give no guarantees,' he smirked. 'If you keep on looking adorable, it's beyond me how enamored I feel.'

'Keep the sneaky smart groveling at bay will you?'

She started to leave but he caught on her arm, his fingers closing around her white coat, squeezing gently, seeking her eyes. She froze taken aback, looking at his arm as if it were a gun. Her eyes were full of panic as they darted between his arm and the corridor leading to the OR.

'I was afraid I was gonna start hating you. I made you hate me instead,' he said grimly. 'Isn't it ironic?'

The joke was lost on her. Because her life would be so much easier if she did in fact hate him.

He smiled a small smile and hung his head, letting go of her arm, taking a step back. She let the breath she'd been holding out.

He inhaled, narrowed his eyes and looked to the side where the corridor led, then looked back at her.

'I was so afraid of being seen like that.'

He must've sensed her unspoken question, the slight arch of her eyebrow, because he elaborated.

'Weak. Raw. Needy.'

He paused and ran a hand through his short hair. He caught her staring at the place above his right ear. The entrance of the bullet. The exit of the bullet. It's over now, he reminded himself and let out another small smile. You can let it go now.

'I... had small absence seizures,' he confessed. 'At first they totally freaked me out. I mean, I felt like I had no control over my body, and everything happened like in slow mo, as if I were in a movie. However, with time I got to feel when another blackout was coming, had some time to take precautions, prepare.'

He raked his teeth over his lower lip, then wet them, seemingly struggling with his next words.

'That night, when you got drunk and came to my apartment' he explained, smiling at the small groan she let out, 'I almost had a blackout right in front of you. That's why I was so desperate to make you leave. I don't say that to make an excuse, I just... want you to know the truth. And the truth is, I was wrong. I was very, very wrong to keep you out because you were the one person who would understand and not judge. But I was scared shitless and copped out,' he sighed, squeezing some of the tension off his jaw.

She kept silent but her eyes spoke volumes.

He looked at her apprehensively, willing himself to continue talking.

'I should've told you all these things at the time. I was being cruel to you without realizing the impact my stubbornness had on you. You were right, I had taken you out of the equation, kept you out when I should've let you in. I had to choose between you and my pride. I chose wrong. I... hope someday you find it in yourself to forgive me.'

He made a step towards her but saw the way she tensed and stopped.

'And I hope someday I stop making you feel like you have something to fear.'

He dipped his head, seeking her look, then gave her a small reassuring smile and a nod and left, his hands stuck in his pockets so he didn't feel tempted to reach out for her.

It would be days later, when they scrubbed in for a surgery together, when she would realize she was staring at his profile, the firm set of his jaw as he concentrated pulling her eyes in without making her feel alarmed. And as the surgery was over, she would almost smile, mirroring his own satisfied smile. She avoided him as much as she could but even she couldn't deny that inwardly, she wasn't done listening to what he had to say. She wasn't done period. It got easier to smile. Easier to breathe. Life was going on.

* * *

 **TBC**


	5. Waiting

_Disclaimer : Still nothing's mine. Alas._

 **A/N: Here goes a well deserved somewhat happier chap for all of you, good folks :) Thank you for joining me for another great journey!**

 **This chapter includes referrals to songs that don't belong to me. Also quotes from JT Roach's _Don't Keep Me Waiting -_ doesn't belong to me either.**

* * *

'What are you wearing?'

'The reception is starting in less than fifteen minutes. I'm not sure this is the best of time to, ehm, handle his lady friends,' Helen shook her head towards Tristan who approached them from the restaurant's parking lot putting the car keys into his dress pants pocket.

'He's talking to Aiden,' Rory mouth-whispered.

'Oh. Didn't realize. Sorry.'

'Okay, bring extra pair of clothes for both you and Josh okay?' Tristan continued his conversation, joining them in front of the restaurant. 'It might be raining later. Pack the pump, the soccer ball's been leaking slightly.'

'Gimme the phone,' Paris stepped forward, reaching a hand out, palm up.

Tristan turned to the side, pressing the phone against his dress shirt.

'Aiden's got him.'

'Gimme the phone.'

Tristan raised his hand holding the mobile in the air, arching an eyebrow as Paris tried to jump and reach it. Even jumping in her heels she couldn't reach as high as his elbow, let alone his hand. Paris rolled her eyes and folded her arms before her chest, looking like a little girl stomping her foot before her big brother. Tristan's eyes sparkled with amusement as he put the mobile back to his ear, smirking as he listened to Aiden. Just then Paris reached forward and tickled his abs, surprising him, making him double over as he laughed.

Helen gave Rory a questioning look. Rory only shrugged.

'Okay, now listen,' Paris said into the phone as she managed to sneak him out of Tristan's hands. 'You have something to write on? Good. I want you to write my number down and memorize it. What? I've already put it into your phone. Duh. I just wanna make sure you know it by heart in case some maniac kidnaps both you and Jo... Hey,' she protested as Tristan sneaked the mobile back from her hand. 'I'm not finished giving instructions to your son!'

'Stop creeping them out.'

'They need to be crept out.'

'No they don't.'

'Says who.'

'Paris,' Tristan sighed patiently, putting the phone back into his slacks pocket. 'They'll be fine, the nanny's got them.'

'The nanny has narcolepsy.'

'She had bar exams last week, she's just exhausted. She's fine. They're fine.'

Paris narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. Then sighed emphatically.

'Come on, let's get drunk. The Chief's daughter is getting married after all.'

Tristan smirked.

'Now that's more like it.'

'Amen,' Helen smiled too.

They started to enter the restaurant.

Rory looked around apprehensively, smoothing her dress.

'He'll be late,' came Paris' voice right beside her, startling her. 'He's taken the day shift so he'll be coming after work.'

Rory looked at her best friend, contemplating playing the dumb card but immediately deciding against it as she met Paris' knowing look.

'Come on, I bet there's fancy complimentary champagne plus some finger food with doubtful hygiene,' she pulled on Rory's shoulder and they caught up with the others, entering the restaurant.

* * *

As Jess entered the restaurant, the party was going full speed. People were laughing and drinking, most having left their tables mingling. Some were dancing to the live band that was playing on the stage to the side of the bar.

He preferred coming late to such venues (or better, not coming at all), at an hour when the official part and the toasts were already over and he could just disappear into the crowd. He had contemplated not attending this reception. He almost didn't come. However, the Chief had made a big deal out of getting his only daughter married and the event had been made top priority through the last couple of weeks. The Chief was very clear about every invited guest's expected presence.

Jess looked around. A couple of colleagues greeted him, some of them obviously tipsy. He greeted them back and headed for the bar, deciding it was too late to look for his place around the tables. It had been a long day shift, especially since many colleagues had left early in order to be able to attend the official ceremony. Jess had volunteered to take the longest shift, welcoming the chance to bail out of at least half the torture.

He leaned against the bar and asked for a beer.

His look roamed around. He touched the knot of his tie, suppressing the urge to loosen it.

He had thought about calling Paris, checking up if they'd made it okay to the restaurant but he knew she would be driving with Tristan and Helen. She hadn't mentioned anything about Rory. He wasn't sure if she was even coming. He didn't see her in the OR, neither at the emergency triage at work earlier. She could be night shift though. He massaged his temples with his point and middle finger. Again, what was that band playing? ' _Don't Hate Me_ ' by Jingle Punks. He spotted Dugray, surrounded by a party of bridesmaids, dancing to the beat in the center of the makeshift dance floor. Their eyes met and Jess rose his beer in greeting, meeting Tristan's acknowledging nod right before one of the bridesmaids swung her hands around Tristan's neck and engaged him into a hazardous low dip. Jeez.

Jess took a swig of his beer, reveling in the astringent taste as it coursed down his throat. His muscles were strained from a long day's work and all he wished for right now was a round over the wrestle mat and then a hot shower before sleep. Workout, sleep, work. Those were the highlights of his days lately. Pathetic right?. He'd always despised jocks for their lack of actual purpose in life and here he was, wishing for another post-exercise adrenaline rush to wash over him.

'Hey there,' Paris stumbled over, taking the empty stool next to him. Jess turned to regard her with an arched eyebrow.

'Don't look at me like that,' she waved a hand. 'I had to get wasted in order to survive all that fluff.'

Jess smirked.

'Can you believe the music they're playing?' Paris shook her head in disbelief.

'Blasphemy,' he smirked.

She let out an indignant huff.

'This, my friend,' she gestured towards the live band and the dance floor in general, 'is the epitome of fluff. God, there goes another one. I'm gonna go outside, look for some sanity before I hurt myself.'

Paris was right. Another song was starting. Melodic guitars. Back vocals humming. Yep. It was official. The most overdone reception he had attended. Not that he had attended many.

 _Giving up your pride isn't easy... Come on, realize that you need me_

Jess shook his head and left the bottle on the bar, following Paris outside.

As soon as they came out onto the terrace, his eyes found her. Even though her back was turned to him, he couldn't mistake her. It was Rory. It was like she had a magnetic field, attracting him. She was wearing a classic tight fitting black dress. When she turned a little to the side, he cursed under his breath. The dress was cut out at the sides, the creamy white skin of her ribs and waist showing. He remembered the freckles that covered her there. Remembered how she looked with her eyes closed while laying over his chest, long hair brushed to the side, clad in nothing but his unbuttoned plaid shirt. And the feeling was better than the taste of cotton candy melting in one's mouth, better than flying paper kites when you're ten, better than a George Lucas binge, better than winning the national lottery, better than saving a life in the last minute. It was the best damn feeling one could imagine and he, Jess Mariano used to have that.

He looked around, trying to remember why he'd come out here in the first place. Right. Paris. She was a couple of feet away, trying to convince Helen to cut off the cables to the band's sound system.

* * *

Rory tried to concentrate on what the Chief's brother in law was saying but it was getting harder and harder to.

She rubbed both palms against her bare arms. Here, on the restaurant's terrace, the afternoon dusk was giving way to a clear early October evening and the air had a crisp edge to it.

Rory tried to nod in the proper places but she had lost the main plot in what felt like hours ago. The Chief's brother in law was a middle-aged balding man with a fervent passion for ornithology. He was a professor at the _Zoology Institute of Michigan_ and was obviously deeply fascinated by the mating habits of the white-rumped vulture and the importance of natural ecosystems. Rory felt her eyelids grow heavy. Inside, a slower song had started playing, the intro featuring some rhythmic guitars.

A gust of wind caught up and she shivered, hugging herself tighter.

Turned out the white-rumped vulture preferred to nest closer to human habitations.

'Sorry for keeping you waiting,' a low voice breathed out by her right ear. Another wave of chills ran down her spine, this time for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather.

She felt a coat being slung over her shoulders, bringing warmth and the unmistakable whiff of a painfully familiar woodsy perfume.

He was standing right behind her, at a distance that suggested they'd come to this venue as a couple. Sudden and unexpected, his presence closed in on her and she felt lightheaded. A tight feeling settled in her throat. She felt her cheeks burning and a sudden twist pulled at her chest, squeezing her in a vice-like grip. She wasn't sure her feet could be trusted to not betray her so she stood plastered on the spot, not daring to breathe.

'Sorry, am I interrupting?' Jess turned towards the Chief's brother in law with a forcedly polite smile plastered over his lips.

As the elderly man shook his head no, Jess threw an arm over Rory's shoulders and navigated her inside, acknowledging the other man with a brief nod.

As soon as they got back in, he stepped out of her personal space and withdrew his hand from her shoulders.

They made a couple of steps, walking side by side. He scratched the back of his neck.

'You were getting bored to death there right? Say yes so that playing the possessive boyfriend doesn't come off as creepy as it's starting to feel.'

 _Trying to catch your eyes when they pass along Don't keep me waiting... Me waiting..._

With some luck, the band was gonna take a break after the end of that song. Jeez.

Rory realized they'd stopped walking and were instead staring at each other, not saying a word. She watched as he parted his lips and took a breath, then wet them in apprehension, obviously contemplating whether to speak at all.

At that moment Ed Sheeran's ' _Perfect_ ' started playing and both Jess and Rory's eyes sparkled with amusement, trying to suppress a smirk.

Jess rubbed his hand against his chin, tilting his head towards the band.

'Never in my life did I think I'd say that but,' he paused, letting out a sigh, 'I miss the Indie Pop they'd been set on.'

Rory felt the corners of her mouth start to hurt with the effort not to smile and when she met Jess' look she remembered how easy it was to lose herself in his eyes. The curve of his clean-shaven jaw was the perfect combination of smooth and angular. The spark in his look was still as contagious as it used to be. And it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

He seemed to catch on the change of her mood because there was a shift in his look and it turned more somber.

Rory shrugged out of his coat and handed it back to him.

'Here.'

'Look, Ror...' he made a step towards her not taking the coat.

She immediately tensed.

'Don't push it.'

'I'm not pushing it,' he said, a hint of stubborn defiance making its way into his voice.

Suddenly she felt tired. She wished she had stayed home. She wished he would just take his damn coat and leave her alone.

'What you're doing is making a show of not pushing it.'

He ran both hands through his hair and hung his head back, chewing on his lower lip. After a moment his defiant posture deflated and he hung his arms by his side, letting out a slow sigh. He made a careful step forward, taking his coat from her still outstretched hand. Their eyes met.

'Maybe...' he rubbed a palm against his jaw. 'Maybe we'll catch up at a better time.'

He tried to give her a reassuring smile and after a pause turned to go.

She watched his back as he moved further away, the coat she'd returned thrown over his shoulder. She took a breath.

'Jess.'

He turned back, his eyes vibrant and unguarded.

'Take me somewhere.'

He blinked once, regarding her quietly, letting her words sink in.

'Okay.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	6. Acts Of Bravery

_Disclaimer: Nothing's mine._

 _A/N: A short but kinda turning point kind of chapter. Hope you enjoy, I'll be so glad to hear your thoughts on it :)_

* * *

The city lights spanned before them, a vast carpet of electrical fireflies. It was so easy to live and die unnoticed in a city like this one, a city where anonymity was actually a concept.

'Looks so peaceful from here,' Rory mumbled more to herself than for him to hear. 'But once you get closer, it's one hell of a mess.'

They stood for another minute, silently regarding the view from the wide window. He had taken her to one of the skyscrapers facing the city. It had a closed terrace that granted a vast view of Manhattan. It wasn't routinely used for observational purposes but for artistic events. However, Jess had operated on the doorman's wife's ulcer and here they were.

Right in front of them, the Empire State building was looming over the city, a giant between smaller giants. Built during the Great Depression, it was another proof that hard times inspired some great stretches of bravery. And a good number of romantic comedies.

Rory turned towards him.

'Why did you bring me here?'

Jess gave her a sideways look, then slanted his head towards the window.

'You told me to, remember?' referring to her wish to take her somewhere when they were at the reception an hour ago.

She folded her arms before her chest, narrowing her eyes.

He sighed knowingly. She could always tell when he was beating around the bush.

'I was afraid you might change your mind,' he said with a small self-deprecating smile. 'This was the first place that came to mind so... yeah.'

She nodded.

'I guess we could use the perspective,' he smirked, giving her a hopeful look. Was it okay to attempt jokes now? Were they there yet? And speaking about, where were they?

Jeez, he had to tune down his own thoughts or he was gonna go insane. Take it easy. Baby steps. Remember, Mariano, baby steps.

Rory's brows were furrowed in deep thought, seemingly fighting some inner battle.

'I don't have any acts of bravery left in me,' she said in a small weary voice. She was looking ahead at the Empire State when Jess dipped his head so he could get a glimpse of her eyes. The blue in them looked bruised, glazed over. His pulse raced on. He felt the familiar pang of guilt clutch at his throat.

Don't go there, he reminded himself. Regret isn't gonna take you anywhere.

He took a breath and wetted his lips, contemplating how he could say what he needed to say.

'When I closed off after what happened, you gave me the space to mourn. You acknowledged my right to freak out while at the same time constantly reminding me you were there in case I needed a friend. When I treated you like a stranger because I was a fucking coward to let you settle with an imperfect version of me, you came forward and saw right through my act.'

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

'You've never let me get away with my twisted ways, always urged me to get my shit together.'

He paused and hung his head back, his next words frustrating the hell out of him but still needing to get out.

'However, even after my ultimate stunts you acted like the bigger person, telling me to look for the greater picture.' He let out a slow sigh. 'I paraded with another woman just to scare you off and you still had the urge to come and tell me not to undergo potentially dangerous tests. I got myself into self-induced coma and still you took the seat next to me and walked me through the surgery that might eventually change my life. That night after Julian Thompson died, you knew I would be a wreck. And you came in my apartment, fully aware I would be at my worst, in order to share an hour of silence so that I wouldn't be alone on the crappiest day of my life.'

He took a breath, giving her a quick sideways look.

Rory had closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, inhaling and exhaling deliberately slowly. He waited, giving her time to recuperate.

'There is not a single brave thing you didn't do,' he said quietly, hoping she heard the sincerity in his voice and believed him. Because she couldn't have saved him any more than she did. It was crazy she felt like she hadn't done enough, like he was asking her to give more than she already had. It was crazy but it was true because he had made it so. And he had to acknowledge it. His silence to her had been the most cruel thing he'd ever done to anyone and the only way he knew to mend it was to let her know the truth.

'I don't really think I deserve your love, but then again you never loved me cause I deserved so. You loved me because it was how you felt. And I'm not ever again walking away from that. I hope some day it gets simpler. I pray that some day we'll be able to sit next to each other and stare at our shoes without feeling uncomfortable.'

Because simplicity is bliss. And we used to have that. Maybe still could.

In a while Rory opened her eyes, looking ahead. Her face was composed into a calm expression but Jess knew it cost her a lot of effort to keep it so.

'Now that you list your stupid stunts, they do sound impressive,' she said dispassionately, the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Jess' eyes lit up. He let a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. So, maybe they weren't exactly at a point where they could joke about stuff, but at least they were getting there. For some reason it made him feel giddy.

'I'd like to go home now,' she said before he had formed a reply.

Jess gave her a nod and took her heels from the floor, carrying them in one hand as he went to call the elevator.

* * *

 **TBC**


	7. Smile Again

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: I just love Paris with Rory. Scratch that. I love Paris period. Hope you enjoy! Your reviews matter :)  
**

* * *

They were sitting on a bench, watching as Josh and Aiden tried to wrestle Tristan down to the grass. Cerberus was running around the boys nuzzling their feet, occasionally letting out a cheerful woof. It was one of the last warm sunny days before autumn let go and the air started to get a crisp of winter. Paris and Rory had decided to spend the day outside, taking to-go coffee and sandwiches to the park. It was nice to be in the open for a change.

A kid about Josh's age approached the guys, asking them something. Tristan replied, regarding the boy with a beaming smile, making the kid's mom knee-weak as she arrived after her son, seemingly apologizing for his intrusion on them but soon ogling Tristan helplessly. Tristan was probably saying something polite back when the boys used the moment to tackle him down in the grass, climbing all over him with triumphant cries.

'From one to ten, what's the level of awkwardness between you and Jess?' Paris asked matter-of-factly, making Rory choke on her coffee.

'I saw you at at wedding last Saturday,' Paris continued. 'And then I didn't see you, so I drew the most obvious conclusion.'

'If you're okay with that, spare me the details,' Rory rose her hand, palm out.

Paris rolled her eyes.

'So, how is make-up sex these days?'

'Oh boy,' Rory started wiping the freshly spilled coffee spot from her jeans, still coughing. 'You were such faithful jeans,' she spoke to her right thigh 'until this debauchery witch came and broke it between us. I'll miss you forever, promise,' Rory said stroking the spotted place.

'You did the deed didn't you?' Paris asked coolly, lifting her sunglasses over her eyes to put over her head.

'Sheesh, Paris,' Rory shook her head. 'Not that I owe you an account, but ah,' she sighed and squeezed her eyes with embarrassment, fighting the words out of her mouth, 'I've been involved in no funny business whatsoever.'

'Really?' Paris asked disbelievingly.

'Really.'

'Oh. Okay.'

'We went out for a walk, watched some skyscrapers. Talked a while. Then I went home. Home meaning my apartment, alone.' she added as she saw the flash in Paris' eyes. 'God, Paris,' Rory shook her head.

'So, where does that put you on a scale of one to ten? Are you ten - 'I switched from loving to hating you' super awkward, or one - 'I'm gonna jump your bones any moment now' negligibly awkward?'

'Jeez, I don't know,' Rory let out a small chuckle at Paris' take on the situation. 'I guess it's an eight. Or seven. Ish.'

'Oh. He's trying to make it better between you, though. Right?' Paris asked.

Rory sighed.

'I can see that. I just... Do you think I'm being difficult?' she asked, feeling a tightness in her throat. Just great, now there were Paris' expectations to disappoint, too.

Paris' brows arched and she folded her arms before her chest.

'You mean, after being a trauma survivor and going through hell for the man you love only to have your heart stomped over multiple times, do I think you're being difficult? Let me think, I damn hope you are, because I'm not going through another crisis-handling domination war with your mother,' Paris said, referring to the month Rory spent in her apartment, staying in bed for days moping around, feeling useless. This was as close as one got to being clinically depressed without reaching the point where they needed professional help to get back to functioning properly.

'What was with the make-up sex then?' Rory asked.

'I'm just checking on you,' Paris shrugged. 'You get that dreamy-eye look when you think he's not watching. I just want you to be okay this time,' she said.

Rory turned to give her best friend a look. She found Paris looking back at her, her expression dead serious.

'I don't ever want to see you like you were after Jess left,' Paris said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Rory chewed on her lip, giving her a nod.

'Me either.'

They stood for a while, watching the boys trying to get bodylock over a sitting Tristan, struggling to bring him back down to the ground.

'What was with the awkwardness level?' Rory asked.

'We're throwing you a surprise birthday party Friday night. Dugray let it slip in front of Jess while they were rolling over the wrestling mat. I'm not sure whether to ward him off or invite him in. Any thoughts on the matter? I don't want you to feel ambushed.'

Rory fought a smile but lost the battle and let it slip up the corners of her mouth.

'God, Paris,' she let out a low chuckle, sliding her palm down her face. 'You're something else, you know that?'

Rory expected Paris to reply something along the line of 'Duh. I'm golden. I can include you in the preparations of your own surprise party and pull it off,' but she didn't. Instead, she watched Rory with a peculiar expression on her face.

'You're smiling again,' Paris said.

Rory's brows furrowed.

'I've been known to smile, Paris.'

Paris shook her head.

'Not lately. You weren't into it. You're looking more like yourself today,' Paris said seriously. 'It's good to have you back.'

Rory remembered how, a couple of months ago, she was the one who observed the positive change in her friend and commented how good it was to have her out from under her rock. Paris had gone through a major life crisis getting through her divorce. She had been in a bad place. She had come out of it alive and whole and was currently doing much better than she'd thought possible. And so had she, Rory Gilmore. She had been through hell but she hadn't lost what truly made her who she was. Rory bit back a shy smile, letting the smallest bit of pride to enter her body and fill her chest. It had been the longest time since she'd last felt proud of herself. She turned to meet Paris' eyes still on her.

'You'll be around, right?' Rory asked, her voice a mixture of timid and hopeful.

Paris touched her hand, letting her fingers linger over Rory's, giving them a slight squeeze.

'With a chastity belt after swallowing the key. Always.'

Rory let out a breathy chuckle, followed by a relieved smile.

'He can come.'

Paris gave her a nod and retreated her hand.

'Do your best to look surprised, though. Dugray is so overtly excited about orchestrating a surprise party. I had to slap clowns versus strippers ideas out of his head so I hope you take the situation in all its seriousness.'

Rory drank the remains of her coffee, feeling a newfound ease. Smiling didn't cost her so much effort today. And for that, she felt grateful.

* * *

 **TBC**


	8. Surrender

_Disclaimer : Alas, still nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Okay, here goes another chapter. WARNING! - The third part of this chapter is the most M stuff I've uploaded so far. In my opinion it's not as graphic as most M fics get, yet it does include some openly sexual content. So, if by any means you feel offended, please skip. AGAIN, THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M. What happens in the second part will be referred to in later chapters (in less detail, of course), so you'll be able to follow the events even if you skip it :)  
**

* * *

'Did you bring paper napkins?' Paris asked.

'Yeah. I put them up in the shelf,' Tristan nodded while taking beer cans out of a plastic bag to put into the fridge.

They were in Rory's kitchen, using Paris' key to let themselves in and prepare the place for the surprise party while Rory was still at work.

'Which shelf?'

Tristan closed the fridge and turned. He stretched up on his toes, opening the shelf above Paris' head. For a moment he was hovering over her, his chest slightly brushing her cheek. She looked down, backing more into the counter, met by the sight of his lower stomach baring under the raised hem of his shirt. She blinked apprehensively, willing her cheeks to not turn red. Embarrassment was for losers. The next moment he was stepping out of her personal space, unaware of the moment that had transpired.

'Here,' he nudged her hand with the napkin pack when she didn't take it at first.

Tristan frowned at her stupor, studying her.

'I still think the stripper would've made a nice change, bring some life to the party,' he offered.

'What?.' Paris zoned back in, blinking.

'You suddenly turned serious,' he smirked.

Obviously that warranted some stripper reference. Jeez, Dugray.

'You realize bringing a female stripper to Rory's birthday party wasn't gonna cut it for her, right?' Paris sighed.

'I haven't specifically said it had to be a female stripper.'

Paris gave him a look. He shrugged.

'Like you don't think male stripping is embarrassing,' he said in his defense.

Paris rolled her eyes, then glanced at her watch.

'I'm gonna go take the boys. Try not to mess anything up till we come back.'

'Can't make any promises,' Tristan smirked, taking three oranges from a bag and juggling them in the air a couple of times faking almost dropping them to the floor before putting them in a bowl.

Paris shook her head and took his car keys from the kitchen island.

'Remember to take good care of my baby,' he called after her as she put on her shoes in the corridor, referring to his Audi.

'I'll stroke the leather salon for you,' she said before opening the front door, ignoring his 'Be gentle' comment just as she closed the door behind her back.

* * *

She rung the doorbell and waited.

He opened the door, surprise written over his face at the sight of her.

'Rory.'

She folded her arms before her chest, regarding him silently.

'Hey. Ehm, happy birthday,' he said, running a hand through his hair.

'You didn't come,' she said, the slightest hint of accusation grazing her voice.

'I...' he opened his mouth but didn't finish, pausing with his palm squeezing his nape. He hung his head down and let out a sigh, as if he was losing a battle he'd led with himself a couple of times already. 'I wasn't sure it was a good idea.'

She narrowed her eyes.

'You were invited right?'

He raked his teeth over his lower lip and put both hands into his jeans pockets. Then moved to the side, creating space for her to walk in.

She regarded him. Bare feet. Threadbare white cotton tee. Darkwash faded jeans. He didn't look harmful.

She walked inside, passing him by, and entered his apartment. She paused as she found herself into his living room. There was a single lit night lamp by his couch. An open book, put face down over the coffee table.

'I didn't wanna crowd you,' his voice sounded behind her, a trace of apology in his tone. 'I know how much you hate surprises so I... didn't wanna push anything.'

She looked around. The furniture was simple and rather basic. It was mostly colored in dark brown hues, reminding her of the shade of his eyes in dim lighting.

'I almost came, you know?' he said with a small self-ironic smile. 'I even considered bringing a flower.'

She arched an eyebrow, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't short anymore, growing fully after the surgery. It covered his scar. You couldn't tell it was there. Unless you knew, that was.

Jess took a deep breath in and then let it out. Then stuck his hands deeper into his jean pockets, seemingly not knowing what to do with himself.

'Decided against flowers,' he shrugged. 'Always had a feeling this shit was so overdone.'

He sucked on the inside of his cheeks, rocking on his heels slightly. Then met her eyes with a rather shy look on his face.

'Got you a present, though. I...' he lifted a hand to point his thumb towards the adjacent room. 'I'm gonna go get it.'

Rory watched as he made his way into the other room. He was going out of his way to be more open and talk to her. Really talk to her. He, Jess Mariano, King of the Vocally Challenged. He'd never been less guarded, more exposed.

She followed him stopping at the doorway. A small rectangular package was lying on the night table next to the bed. A book.

'Why are you so patient with me?' she asked behind him.

She had thought it wouldn't matter, it was too late anyway. But she was wrong and it did. It did matter.

He turned to face her, surprised.

'Are you kidding?. Oh. You're not.' he adjusted his features so that they conveyed more seriousness. 'Well, let's say I meant what I said and I'm all in. Really all in.'

Because you taught me how. Because being all in means letting your guard down and opening up. Being all in means trust and devotion. And the only way to do this was to believe the one you love was worth it. And Jess knew that beyond doubt. But, obviously, she didn't. Hadn't he made himself clear? He would do anything it took to make it better between them. He would be patient. How would he not? Was she doubting what he had said, that he was really back and giving it all he had? She obviously did. And he couldn't blame her. Why are you so patient with me. Jesus, Rory. Why wouldn't I?.

'Because I discussed it with my therapist and then gave it some serious thought. And I came up with this extraordinary resolution to all of our problems. Works like magic. Every time.'

She arched an eyebrow waiting for him to quit playing smartass.

'Wanna know what this new extravagant way of working through shit is?' He looked at her square in the eyes and his eyes were bright with emotion. 'It's called talking. I never was one for talking much. God's my witness, spilling my guts in front of you these days is giving me indigestion but what the hell, if you're willing to be patient with me, I'm gonna try harder until we're both satisfied with the results.' He licked a lip, bracing himself. 'I still wanna make you insanely happy. And I'm still figuring out how.'

She pressed her lips together, looking up at the ceiling, as if asking for some divine help. Too late though.

'Hey,' he made two steps and stopped right before her. 'Hey... Don't cry. Babe, please.'

The endearment made her freeze. He had lifted a hand to wipe her cheek with his thumb. When he made contact with her skin, it was all there - everything she had tried to shield herself from. She felt a sudden surge of panic and drew back quickly as if he'd burnt her.

Jess stood before her, his hand still frozen midair, features stilled in apprehension. He was consciously willing himself to wait. She was about to make a decision and both of them felt it.

* * *

Rory's heart was beating erratically. Her limbs felt stiff. Her skin was covered in pins and needles and she felt a dull buzz in her ears.

She tried to analyze her feelings at the moment but it was so confusing. What she felt didn't make sense. She was so drawn to him, his gravity pulling her, solid and familiar. He was the only one who could soothe the wounds he had freshly cut open. Yet, at the same time all she wanted to do was turn all of her self-preservation instincts on and run. Run and hide until she's safe. She used to feel so safe with him. Until he broke her heart, repeatedly. Now she didn't feel safe anymore. What happened to the way they used to be?

Their eyes locked and she felt the buzz in her ears become louder. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her hand and made a step towards him. He waited, holding his breath. She stepped closer, still feeling light-headed, ready to run at the smallest sign of danger. Her fingertips touched his cheek. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. She slid her fingers down his cheek, feeling the slight graze of his scruff, lingering at his jaw. Her look paused over the ticking vein over his neck. She slid her fingertips, tracing it. His pulse quickened under her touch and she felt the panic withdraw, giving way to excitement.

Slowly, her palm continued its exploration down his shoulder. Over his tee-covered pecs. He was bulkier than she remembered. Not in a heavy, bodybuilder kind of way but more in a way that felt like he was stronger.

He felt good. She allowed the thought to surface in her consciousness. In a purely physical way, he felt incredibly good.

She wet her lips. Like a drug kicking in, his presence pulled her in and she wanted more. All of her senses were alert, all nerve endings straining to drink him in.

She could hear his irregular breathing because he was breathing through half parted lips, eyes still closed. His hands were closed in fists by his side, seemingly restraining from doing anything that could break the spell.

She moved to his right side so that she aligned herself beside him and lifted a hand to trace the scar over his ear. She let her fingertips rest over the indented area. She stood like this, feeling the stream down her cheeks run faster, salty streaks pooling at the corners of her mouth before running down her jaw and neck. She studied his scar. It was so strange to have something so physically small mark such huge change in their lives. It wasn't a measurable period. A time period implied it could be over. And what happened would never be completely over, its shadow everpresent between them. The place where a bullet had entered. The place where it had been extracted. All in all, what was left of it amounted to less than an inch. An inch that had turned their lives upside down. Where did they go from here?

Her look moved on to the ticking pulse over his neck. She leaned in, inhaling. The hairs at his nape stood up.

He was so... alive. He was right here in front of her, alive and vibrant and full of bubbling anticipation. His presence was electric. It was such a beautiful revelation. Ever since he came back, she'd been unconsciously waiting for him to disappear. But he had made it out of the surgery alive. Still was. Right here before her. This was the first time him coming out of this sound and whole started to feel real.

Feeling bolder, Rory wetted her lips and slightly touched them to his pulse spot. She heard Jess suck in a breath. She moved to stand before him.

'Rory...' his voice sounded gravelly. 'Wha...' he swallowed hard. 'What are you doing?'

She realized she had started pushing him with her palms so that he was moving back until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed.

She made a step back and found him looking at her, his eyes turning a deep shade of brown.

She met his look and chewed on her lip, hesitating.

'I'm not sure yet,' she said then, as if weighing her options.

She saw the genuine question in his eyes. He looked unguarded, clearly affected by her proximity. And then she realized she knew exactly what she wanted. Her palms slightly pressed against his chest, insisting. He followed her lead with suppressed reluctance, letting her push him onto the mattress, leaning back against his palms. She could see he was having an internal battle, wondering if he should stop her. She stepped between his legs and leaned forward, taking the hem of his tee, tugging up. He looked up at her like hypnotized, his chest rising and falling quickly. She bit on her lip, feeling self-conscious, her fingers still closed around the cotton of his tee.

He looked at her with wide eyes. As if he was trying to figure her out.

She'd stilled, waiting.

He dipped his head a little so that he caught her eyes. Then he lifted his arms, helping her pull the tee over his head.

Her pulse picked up. She climbed on her knees over the bed and he pushed himself further back, making room for her. She sat on her heels and her eyes roamed his frame. He was so alive, she thought again. She felt more and more drawn to the life he exuded. She had been dead for so long. Somehow, his hope silenced the noise of her doubts. Could hope transpire? Could it transfuse so that she would start to feel it, too? She had been so lonely. So afraid.

Jess leaned back over his elbows and willed himself to stand still, his knuckles going white as he kept his hands balled by his sides.

The look in her eyes was intense, blue sparkling with desire. He swallowed with difficulty. Could you die from too much anticipation?

Rory reached a hand to touch him, tracing the hollow of his neck, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Her palm moved down his chest bone, pausing at his abs. He had a well-defined six pack now. The muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She traced the outlines of his abs, letting her fingernails slightly graze the taut skin. He shivered.

'If you keep doing this,' he said in a husky voice, 'I feel obliged to warn you that it may be over before it's begun.'

And I'm gonna embarrass myself like a dorky teenager. Is that what you're aiming for?

He made an effort to smirk to lighten the mood but faltered as she pressed his shoulders down until he was lying flat on the bed. Both her palms slid down his chest reaching his waistline. She started unbuckling his belt. His breath hitched. And then her fingers were closing over him.

'Jesusfuckingchrist,' he hissed.

For a moment his mind went blank. Then her hand moved and he caught her wrist, leaning on one elbow.

Their eyes met. Through the lusty fog that was quickly clouding his brain, he managed to force himself to really look at her. And then he knew.

He let go of her wrist and rested back, rubbing his face with both palms.

'You're gonna be the death of me,' he muttered but was cut short, his eyes rolling back into his head.

She wasn't ready to trust him with herself. It was too soon, her open wounds too fresh. She couldn't trust him yet. He had to do this first. He had to trust her with himself if he ever wanted to stand a chance for winning back what he'd lost.

He saw it. She had missed their intimacy too. But she wasn't gonna let him show his affection. She didn't believe his affection, too afraid of the tumult it brought along. She was only willing to take as much as she was ready to, only taking if she could control just as much she got. He surrendered, leaving himself at her mercy, praying he'd at least have traces of sanity left after tonight.

* * *

 **TBC**


	9. Forgive

_Disclaimer : Everything's mine. Ha. I wish. Oh well.  
_

 _A/N: Such a hard chapter to write. You reviews have the power to break through the worst writers' block._

* * *

'Hey, Chris,' Rory approached the paramedic and the patient who was lying over a stretcher at the emergency triage. 'What have we got?'

'Thirty-six years old male, lost consciousness while driving to work and crashed against a tree. Had his seat belt on, no signs of head trauma.'

'Prodromes?' she asked, checking the patient's pupils with the flashlight of her mobile. 'Hello, Mr Fanning,' she greeted the man lying on the stretcher. The man was mumbling something unintelligible, moving his hand to feel around the stretcher, still disoriented.

Rory felt for his pulse and then listened to his heartbeat and breathing.

'He was stable but a bit dizzy during transportation, you'll have to elicit more history when he fully comes to. He was driving with a co-worker, she's waiting outside. Said Ray was driving and the next moment he lost consciousness and started seizing, losing control over the wheel. Maybe you'll manage to talk to her for more details.'

'Thanks, Chris.'

The paramedic started to leave. Before turning fully, he gave a nod in Rory's direction.

'Morning, Dr Mariano,' Chris greeted.

'Morning, Chris.'

Rory turned to find Jess standing a couple of feet behind her, scrubs and white coat on, stethoscope hanging from his neck.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

'Aren't... aren't you scheduled in the OR?' Rory asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Had he come here to talk? They hadn't met since their last encounter at his apartment. When she had specifically asked to be given some space. He had been so flustered, he didn't even manage to object properly. If she had to be completely honest, she'd been avoiding him. For more than a week she'd been doing her best to not cross paths with him because there were things she wanted to figure out before she faced him again. She needed to figure out where they were, and until then, she'd asked him to not call her. I'll call you, she'd said. She said she would but still hadn't. It had been only a week. A couple of days more than a week. Yeah, a couple of days more. Was she stringing him along? All she'd done was come to his apartment unannounced, get him worked up, blow his mind with a a notoriously extravagant act of seduction and then leave him flustered with as much as an 'I'll call you'. Easy-breezy. Oh boy.

'The Chief grounded me in the ER for a week,' Jess said, looking around the emergency triage for emphasis.

He didn't look angry. He looked... good. What?. Oh, shut up, Rory.

Wait, he was grounded? Why had the Chief grounded him?

Jess must've read the question in her eyes because he ran a hand through his hair and blew out his cheeks.

'Yesterday I've been so distracted, I got him a forceps when he asked me for scissors while assisting him in a nephrectomy. His exact words were, whatever happened to you last weekend, Mariano, you better restore your brain to the way it was before the lobotomy,' he explained.

Okay, so he didn't sound angry. He sounded... conceded.

' _Oh_.'

Rory willed herself not to blush but it wasn't something she really had any control over. The stoic calmness he was pulling off was welcome, but there was a burning intensity in his eyes that made her squirm. Stop acting like some schoolgirl, she told herself. Act professional. You're at work. Doesn't matter you're mentally undressing him right now. What?. Okay, now that's enough.

'I'm gonna go check on Ray here,' she nodded towards the man on the stretcher. 'I... guess I'll see you around.'

'Yeah. See you around.'

She started to leave but then stopped and squeezed her eyes shut before ducking her head and opening them again.

'When's your training?' she turned back.

'Wha... what?'

'You go and kickbox, right?'

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of topic. He nodded once.

'You going tonight?' she asked.

He nodded again, not sure if he should elaborate. Was she asking him to elaborate? What was she really asking?

'Good.'

He watched as she headed towards her patient. And he asked himself, what the hell just happened?.

* * *

'So, what happened?'

'Jim tried to kill me,' the twelve-year old boy said fervently.

Jess' brows rose.

'I didn't!' the other twelve-year old boy countered.

'You did!'

'Okay,' Jess let out an exhale, 'Enough.'

He folded his arms before his chest, giving the twin boys a pointed stare.

'I'll only ask this once more before I call our Child Protection expert to deal with this.'

Now he got their attention.

'So, did you or did you not try to kill your twin brother?' he asked Jim.

'I didn't!' Jim exclaimed. 'I mean, I didn't want to make him die, I only wanted to make him stop teasing me about failing to make it into the baseball team.'

'I wouldn't be teasing you if you hadn't made the stupidest mistake and failed the try-outs. You're supposed to be the fit one.' Jack noted.

'And who came up with the idea of enrolling into the stupid baseball team first?' Jim countered.

'Well I'm the one with the pacemaker, genius! I'm the brains you're the muscle,' Jack rolled his eyes.

'Well guess what, I didn't wanna make it into the team, I only did it for you, jackass!'

'Well, at least you managed to get me into the ER,' Jack muttered.

'I got you David Wright's badge! I wanted to make you smile, not kill you, idiot!'

'A magnet badge, Jim.'

'I'm sorry, okay? I'm fucking sorry.'

'Hey!' Jess rose a finger. 'Enough. One more word and we're taking this to the authorities. Who wants to spend some quality time in Juvy?'

Both boys got quiet, seemingly impressed by Jess' warning.

'Better,' Jess sighed, massaging his temples with point and middle finger. 'Now let's see your pacemaker ID card and set up your pacemaker back to its initial mode.'

* * *

Jess had (finally) finished setting Jack's pacemaker up when he heard two familiar voices behind the nearby curtain.

'I tell you that's what happened.'

'You're so gross Dugray.'

'I'm not gross, I'm honest.'

'Same thing.'

'At least I wasn't the one caught in a compromising position.'

'You're delusional. Oh hey, Jess,' Paris looked up at Jess as she and Tristan appeared from behind the curtain.

Jess have them both a nod.

'I tell you, that's how it happened,' Tristan insisted. 'She gave him some great head and his mind went so blank he got distracted until he was no use.'

Paris scrunched her nose.

'Yuk.'

'It must have been good,' Tristan pondered with his arms folded before his chest.

Paris turned towards Jess abruptly, making Jess flinch from his semi-stupor.

'Make him stop talking. Or give me a pair of scissors and I will cut his tongue.'

'This tongue is bliss,' Tristan gave her a wink, wiggling his brows suggestively.

'I give up. Go and discuss your absurd theory with someone else, I'm officially grossed out.'

Tristan studied Jess curiously.

'Man, you okay? You look like you just swallowed a dead fish.'

'Wha...' Jess licked a lip and looked around apprehensively. 'What were you talking about?'

'Rory's syncope patient,' Paris shook her head at Tristan condescendingly. 'Dugray has this absurd theory that the guy has an affair with his attractive female co-worker, based on the sole fact that the patient is married and he refused to inform his wife he was at the hospital, lying about having to work late. Are you even listening to me? Jess? Jeez, every male in this hospital has become completely useless. I'm going back into the real world where everything is sterile and people are deeply sedated.'

With that, Paris shook her head indignantly and left a flustered Jess behind.

Awkwardnessville? Ding-dong, we've got a winner.

'Seriously, man,' Tristan shook his head, 'you need to get yourself together. You look like a truck ran over you.'

* * *

He felt his opponent was about to tackle him over but didn't manage to escape it. His head wasn't into the wrestle tonight, his eyes every now and then darting towards the entrance of the gym.

Maybe she'd been teasing. Maybe she didn't plan on coming at all. Was this revenge? Was she deliberately messing with his head to take back at him for the way he had messed with hers? Because she was succeeding.

Jess felt another blow in the ribs. He tried to roll over, managing to get up to a standing position. Just then his eyes fell on hers and he stilled.

For a moment the noise of the gym died out and all he could see was a pair of electric blue. It felt like a punch in the gut. His look made it to her half parted lips that formed a slight 'oh' just as he felt the fist making contact with his jaw, almost knocking him out.

Jess made a couple of steps back, thrown back by the blow, leaning over his knees for support. Another punch was on its way but he managed to duck his head in time to miss the blow. He tried to take a swing at his opponent but wasn't fast enough and got a blow above the eye. For a moment everything disappeared.

* * *

'I'm glad you find my misery overtly amusing,' he muttered.

Rory looked at his sulky expression and let out a chuckle, dabbing the gauze in disinfectant before touching it to his eyebrow making him wince.

'Stay still.'

Taking her order a little too literally, Jess stood still, his eyes set intently on hers as she tended to his cut eyebrow. They were in the gym's backroom where the gym owner kept the first aid kits. Given it was a martial arts gym, those kits came in handy pretty often.

Jess was sitting on a stool, his arms hanging loose between his knees that were set apart so that she could work undisturbed.

Rory wetted her lips in concentration as she put some antibiotic powder over the cut. A muscle in his jaw ticked as she touched the skin that already had an angry red-purple bruise forming beneath the cut. It probably stung. Rory opened her mouth to say sorry but decided to change topic instead.

'Does this happen often?' she asked. 'I mean, getting beaten up like this,' she clarified.

Jess lifted a hand and took a loose strand of her hair between his fingers, studying it with mesmerized scrutiny.

'I've been distracted,' he mumbled, seemingly in some sort of trance.

When his eyes moved up and met hers, she recognized sincere awe. He looked so vulnerable, so enamored. Against her better judgement, Rory felt an overwhelming tenderness. Yeah, tenderness. His surrender somehow had the power to disarm her.

She stepped forward and stood between his legs, watching as he looked at her, not daring to move. She leaned forward and he was so close she felt his breath soft against her chin, like feathers tickling her skin. His lips were half parted in an unvoiced question. Was she gonna finish this? She leaned further down and sighed with relief when his mouth closed on hers, meeting midway. A light, almost innocent touch, lips reacquainting. He put a palm behind her nape, squeezing lightly, bringing her closer. Then he moved, taking lead. And the gym disappeared, the world disappeared, the past stopped to exist. All they had was each other and this moment right now.

Rory felt the familiar sweet, warm sensation engulf her. She was sinking deeper and deeper, letting her particles rearrange until she started to dissolve, her body humming with the long lost feeling of fulfillment. She deepened the kiss until she felt herself slip away and disappear, having a hard time telling where she ended and he started. It was so easy to get lost in him. Just like she used to. Could she afford to lose herself to him again? He tilted his head and changed angle, making her shiver.

She balled his tee in her fists, taking a deep breath before she flattened her palms against his chest and pushed herself back, extracting herself from him. Jess stood up and took a step back, driven by surprise more than the momentum she managed to create with her push. Both of them were panting heavily, clearly affected by the shared moment of intimacy. He rubbed a palm against his jaw, as if she'd just punched him and he still wasn't sure how that happened. Rory was looking at him, her mouth slightly agape, the look in her eyes straightforwardly terrified.

'I can't believe it,' she shook her head.

Jess stood up straighter, gaining some of his attitude back.

'I thought you wanted this,' he said, a hint of accusation surfacing in his voice.

God, she had looked more than willing. She had initiated this, for fuck's sake. Shit. Was this how they were gonna do things now? Playing some twisted on and off yo-yo. Okay, no need to sound like a jerk. Get a grip on yourself, now.

Jess pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down.

'I can't believe you still make me feel like that,' Rory said, shaking her head again, looking in equal parts surprised and appalled. 'How many obscene things should you do to facilitate at least a tiny bit of hate in me?'

Jess narrowed his eyes, unable to follow the conversation.

'What?'

'You paraded with another woman in front of me,' she hissed, disgust apparent in her voice. 'You did it, knowing how much you'd hurt me.'

He'd done it because of it.

'You made love to me and still left to have the surgery done,' she continued, making a step towards him, her eyes shooting daggers. 'You bastard.'

She pushed him back with all the strength she could muster. Which all in all didn't amount to much, yet was enough to make him step back, combined with the strength of her words.

'You shouldn't be allowed to get near me again,' she said, pushing him back again. 'You shouldn't be allowed to make me feel like I used to feel.'

Jess made a step forward, his arms open in an attempt for negotiation. He was met by both her fists' thump against his chest.

'Why don't you go and make someone else's life miserable? Make someone else fall in love with you, it's like an incurable infection and you infected me with it! How the hell did you manage to forgive yourself, huh? How did you justify stomping all over me and leaving me behind?'

Jess opened his mouth and then closed it, contemplating his answer. He deserved her anger, her indignation. Fair enough. He was the reason she'd lost her trust in her own judgement. He deserved much worse than she was giving him.

And then she was looking at him with that look - a look where so many emotions were battling. There was rage and there was indignation, but there were also hope and loneliness and... and love. Tender, all-forgiving love. She was looking at him like there wasn't a single thing about him she didn't find extraordinary and fascinating. And she found that terrifying. He found it exquisite.

Rory seemed to realize how obvious her play of emotions had become and took a sharp breath in.

'Excuse me,' she said hastily and left the backroom in a quick escape.

Jess found her outside the gym, sitting on the curb with her elbows propped over her knees. He sat down next to her, mirroring her position. They stood for a while, each silently contemplating the situation. Then he spoke and his voice was solemn, gentle.

'I tried to find the lesson in that. I... thought each next step was going to kill me. I mean, kill me in the way I feared the most, take away my dignity. And the thought was terrifying.'

She looked up, realizing he was answering her previous question. How did you manage to forgive yourself? She gave him a slow nod, her previous fervor down. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Because forgiving him felt like she was betraying her dignity, putting herself in a situation where she could possibly get unreasonably hurt again. And she didn't want to ever go there. She'd hardly survived it last time.

'I spent a lot of time thinking how we got here,' Jess continued, 'I mean,' he let out a mirthless laugh, 'I'm well aware I stirred things in this direction, but in reality, how did I do it exactly? And I think that it was through doing a lot of little things consistently over a long period of time. And, as I've come to realize, most of those things hurt you beyond good measure.'

'What are we gonna do?' she asked, her voice timid and lacking its edge.

He turned to give her a look.

'You've showed me exactly what to do. I'm trying to do what you taught me.'

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

'I wouldn't have gone through this being the same man if it weren't for your continuous, consistent reminders that you loved me enough to go through hell and back with me. And the worst part of it is over. Now I know what I have to do. Little things I'm willing to do every day. Show up. Be there. Listen. And, eventually, kick myself to talk. But mostly, be there.'

Every day for the rest of my life.

'You're going to forgive me,' he said then.

He said it with the same astounding calmness, making the smug statement somehow sound wise.

'You're going to forgive me regardless I don't deserve it,' he continued.

Rory arched an eyebrow.

'You're going to,' he shrugged as if he was helpless to prevent her from doing so. 'Not because I'm deserving, or because I''l make the right amends, but because you still love me.'

As simple as that.

'But you need to know something.' He took a breath, calming his voice. 'You're gonna be okay. You're gonna find your way and I'll be close behind. But you'll find your way, with or without me. Because you're just that strong.'

She looked at him and her eyes shone with an emotion she had thought impossible to feel anymore, not when he was concerned.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

Jess opened his mouth to say something but seemed to lose the words. His eyes turned a deeper, intense shade of brown and he permitted himself a small breath in.

'You're gonna be okay, Ror.'

He lifted a hand and touched her cheek with his knuckles, the gesture subtle but affectionate.

'I don't ever want to feel ashamed for doing something out of love,' she said in a small, bruised voice.

Jess' hand froze before he let it fall back down, resting his elbow over his knee.

'You won't.'

He took a breath and studied her, the look in his eyes still intent. Then he let it out slowly.

'Come on, let's catch you a cab home.'

* * *

 **TBC  
**


	10. First Dance

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 _A/N: The choice of song at the end of this chapter is entirely due to fayevalcntine's influence for which I'm eternally grateful :) Thanks to all those who are still around and reading :)  
_

* * *

'And then we do the splits for another ten minutes. The other girls are having practice right now getting ready for the audition and what am I doing? I'm losing my time here,' the girl sighed dramatically, looking around the ER for emphasis.

Jess took the girl's foot silently and moved it in the ankle joint.

The girl's lips pressed in a thin white line.

Jess arched an eyebrow, repeating the move, watching her face for a reaction. She flinched when he reached a 90 degree angle.

'You're wasting your time, I'm fine,' the girl groaned with a strained voice.

Jess flexed her toes and she grimaced.

'Are you some kind of sadist or what?' she spat, her hands balling into fists by her skinny frame.

Jess turned towards the girl's chart and assigned an X-ray, then gave the chart to the awaiting Helen.

'Are you always that silent or is it just me boring you?' the girl asked.

'Yes,' Jess muttered noncommittally.

She rolled her eyes.

'Look, I'm sure you've got a lot of other work to do, can't we tell my mom I'm fine so I can get back to practice and rock that audition?'

'Come on, little miss,' Helen said taking the girl's hand to help her into a wheelchair.

'My name is Tiffany,' the girl cut in.

'Okay, Tiffany,' Helen stressed. 'Let's get a picture of this award-winning ankle of yours.'

'No practice today?'

'No practice today,' the nurse patted Tiffany's shoulder sympathetically.

* * *

Tristan put the X-ray up against the light and studied it for a while.

'I think a couple weeks of physiotherapy should make it all right.'

'I don't think she'll be happy to hear it,' Jess crossed his arms behind his head, stretching with a wary sigh.

'Since when do you care what makes your patients happy?' Tristan arched an eyebrow.

'Since they're ten-year-old prima wannabes with uncontrollable chattering tendencies.'

'You're a natural with children, you're gonna find just the right words,' Tristan chuckled with a wicked smile.

'My elephant grace is their undoing,' Jess muttered.

'We're gathering for drinks at Neil's after work Thursday night,' Tristan said taking his charts. 'Helen's got birthday, I'm big on surprises. You know, with Rory's birthday party being such a blast.'

Jess narrowed his eyes, thinking how much actual intel Tristan had on that night. Their eyes met and Tristan's look was incredulous.

'You coming or what?' he asked, his smile confused.

Jess smacked his head mentally.

'Sure.'

* * *

'You seen Aiden?' Tristan asked Rory as he approached her at the nurses station.

'Wasn't he drawing in the breakroom?' Rory looked up from the chart she'd been filling in.

'Yeah, but that was like an hour ago. I got called in for a consult and had to leave.'

Tristan fished his mobile out of his scrubs' pocket and started dialing when Rory nudged his elbow. He looked up questioningly and when he traced her amused look, saw she was pointing at Aiden. He was sitting in a chair in Tiffany's room, watching her as she went through his drawings.

'Wha...' Tristan had stopped with his hand holding the mobile midair, watching dumbfound as his son's cheeks turned pink when he smiled shyly at something the girl said.

'I think somebody has a crush,' Rory smiled knowingly.

'But...'

Rory watched amused as the very one and only Tristan Dugray was for once rendered speechless.

'Is he good?' Rory asked, referring to Aiden's drawings.

'He never shows me those drawings,' Tristan mumbled, still in shock, rubbing his neck in confusion. 'He... he spends hours drawing and he won't show me but now... whoa.'

Tristan looked like a lost puppy.

'But he's so young. He thinks girls are gross.'

Rory leaned an elbow over the nurses station counter and her smile grew even wider.

'You're such a parent,' she smirked.

* * *

'Evil mommy emergency,' Paris whispered behind Rory, approaching her at the nurses station.

Rory turned back, arching an eyebrow questioningly.

'Vegan mommy's dad is getting his gallbladder removed today,' Paris elaborated. 'She met me in the elevator giving me shit about missing the last recital in the kindergarten. There had been also a bio product handmade cookie exhibition I subsequently missed and am officially in their black list. She even had the nerve to ask if my motorcycling boyfriend works here too. My estimation of her itsy-bitsy brain was underdone. She looked suspicious. Rory, I think that she knows.'

'Easy, Justin.'

Paris paused to take a breath and rose a point finger in Rory's direction.

'Don't easy me. It's your fault I ended up with a fake mommy whispering boyfriend in the first place. Now they can just go about seeing my supposedly enamored boyfriend flirting unashamedly with the whole skank-prone subset of the nurse population.'

'Tristan was here minutes ago. We can call him, tell him to keep a low profile and show up at some point to declare his undying love et cetera. Piece of cake.'

'Already called, he's in surgery. You know what, screw them. If they know, they know. Being mean is all they know so if they give me shit I'll just backfire.'

Rory rose an eyebrow, looking at her best friend giving herself the pep talk.

'We're gathering at _Neil's_ for Helen's birthday. Tomorrow she's working until five p.m. so we're meeting up after that.'

Paris massaged her temples.

'Yeah, okay. I'm coming out of 24-hour shift tomorrow morning, so I make no promises but I'll talk to the nanny and try to come by. If you meet Dugray...'

'I'll make sure to tell him his Schmoopy Woopy is looking for him,' Rory gave her a wink.

* * *

'Dr Geller, code blue in ninth.'

Paris sat up into the break room couch rubbing her eyes and rolled her shoulders, trying to chase the sleep away. Waking up in the middle of a night shift nap was a tough task but with practice alertness came in less than a minute. Paris rose to her feet and threw her white coat on, grabbing her stethoscope and mobile from the table on her way out.

'Sixty-two year old male, crashed after cholecystectomy.'

'Which postoperative hour?'

'The surgery was this morning.'

'Call to check for a free OP, we're probably going in for a revision.'

It had been such a nice slow night shift. Ah, it always was. Right until someone started crashing and needed to be reoperated on.

* * *

'Good job, Half-Pint,' Tristan gave her a wink as they came out of the OR. 'About Helen's birthday party tonight...'

'Rory told me, I'm talking to the nanny but she's been full on for the last twenty four so don't look forward to this conversation.'

'I'm bringing Aiden. I'm beat after the twenty-four shift so I thought I would call in early anyway. If you're up to it, I can take you and Josh and then we leave at eight-eight thirty tops. What do you think?'

'I think sometimes you're not such a complete pain in the ass.'

'Well you always are but we appreciate your redeeming qualities,' he ruffled her short hair, taking a precautionary step to the side as Paris expectedly swatted his arm.

'I'll call as we start towards your place,' he gave her a last wink before he left for the lockers room, stretching his arms behind his neck.

Someone cleared their throat behind Paris. She turned to find Vegan Mom who was now facing her after probably adoring Tristan's back for a while.

'Hey,' the young woman stepped from foot to foot. She looked uncharacteristically uneasy. And underslept. Just like Paris.

'Hey.'

'I wanted to say thank you. For saving my dad.'

Paris narrowed her eyes, not really following. She was switching into hibernation mode any minute now. It had been a long surgery.

The other woman must have seen the confusion on Paris' face, because she elaborated.

'The man you had to operate on in there, that's my father.'

'Oh.'

'I...' the woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 'I owe you an apology.'

Paris looked around, thinking she had probably dozed off and was dreaming. She blinked, taking in her surroundings. Everything seemed normal. Another busy morning at St Morrison's. Hospital staff walking. Patients limping. The twenty four hour shift had to be wearing on her.

'All this time we picked on you for working too much but if you didn't do what you do, my father wouldn't be getting better right now. We were lucky to have you on your night shift.'

Paris stood silent, for once not really having anything to say. Maybe a simple 'you're welcome' would do. But she wasn't really up for pleasantries, she was beat and she wanted to get some sleep.

'You're cute together,' the other woman continued.

What?.

The woman nodded in the direction in which Tristan had left.

'I actually had doubts you were an item with the blond hottie but you make a nice team and he totally adores you.'

Paris blinked apprehensively, this time sure she was having some sappy unrealistic dream. When the other woman didn't disappear, Paris simply gave her a nod and left for the lockers room, deciding it was high time she got home.

* * *

'Let me tell you a secret,' Jess whispered, leaning towards Aiden conspiratorially. They were sitting on a table at _Neil's_ , watching as Helen was animatedly talking to Tiffany at the bar where they were served alcohol-free margaritas (whatever that meant).

'If she likes you, all she'll care about is you had the bravery to ask her.'

Aiden scrunched his nose, finding it hard to believe.

'You sure?'

'Positive.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I'm a terrible dancer,' he said and stood up. And also because Helen had a ten-year old invited to her afternoon birthday party. There was no way the girl would be here if she didn't want to meet up with Aiden.

Jess approached the digital jukebox at the other end of the bar and leaned up an elbow above his head. As the first chords of the song played, he let a satisfied smirk creep up his lips.

She was sitting on one of the high stools aligned by the bar, waiting for her drink.

 _I am good, I am grounded_  
 _Davy says that I look taller_

Jess paused right behind her, leaning one hand against the bar, using the other to touch the side of her arm, sliding his fingertips down until he reached the back of her hand and looped his fingers around her, gently pulling.

 _I can't get my head around it_  
 _I keep feeling smaller and smaller_

She slowly turned back on the stool, the look in her eyes surprised.

Jess lifted her hand in his and watched as their fingers intertwined. Rory slid down from the high stool, following him to the makeshift dancefloor. He placed her palm on his shoulder as his stopped against her waist, pulling her so that she was flush against his hip. There was nothing tentative or unsure about the way she fit against him, from his shoulder down to his knee he exuded solidity and warmth.

 _I need my girl_  
 _I need my girl_

And suddenly they were four years back, dancing in a different month in a different room.

 _I thought you didn't dance._

 _I don't._

 _Great. Then why did you bring me here?_

 _Because I needed an excuse to touch you._

She looked up at him and by the look in his eyes knew he was also remembering that first dance. So much had changed. And then, not so much. They had shared so many secrets in the interim. So many, their secrets had swallowed one another. Now wherever she ran, there was so much of him within her, she could never get free. He was like dope. She was addicted. And as bad as the withdrawal had been, she felt his gravity rush over her, swallow her, pull her in. And she knew she was about to fall again. Tripping over their chemistry had been so frustrating. If her heart was about to be broken again, then she was about to face the consequences. But if it wasn't... the alternative was intoxicating.

'I'm taking Cerberus to the park this Saturday. Eleven. Ish.'

His hold over her waist got firmer. She let out a stifled whimper.

She felt his stubble against her cheek as he smiled. He nuzzled her neck and held her even closer, letting his palms slide up, one cradling her head, his fingers getting tangled into her hair, the other pressing against her back into a tight embrace. They had stopped moving.

* * *

A couple of tables from the makeshift dancefloor an almost four year old boy was begrudgingly watching the couples as they moved from side to side.

'Is she his girlfriend?'

Paris followed her son's look towards Aiden who was swaying from side to side holding Tiffany's elbows and doing his best not to step on her toes.

'I think he wants her to be,' Paris said, causing Tristan to let out a low disconcerted grunt. Who would guess that Tristan Dugray would be such a stuck-up dad when it came to his own son developing affections for the opposite sex? It was hilarious.

'Why?'

'What?'

'Why does he want her to be his girlfriend. She's a girl, girls are gross.' Josh reasoned, winning an appreciative nod from Tristan. That's what reasonable young boys were supposed to feel about girls. Not traitorously show them their secret drawings.

'Because when he sees her, his dopamine levels go crazy and he gets dizzy from a sudden rush of excitement. High levels of dopamine and serotonin make him feel all kinds of giddy and self-conscious, his heart rate picks up, his palms start sweating and if this little prima decides to ask him to buy her the Bolshoi Theatre had he the money he would do it right away.'

'Yuk,' Josh made a face.

'That's right, buddy,' Paris nodded. 'Those are the same substances that cause schisophrenia and insanity, they're dangerous stuff.'

Helen came by at their table, a tilted party hat hanging haphazardly from the side of her head.

'Come on, little guy, I got birthday - dance with me!'

'I am not your boyfriend!' Josh said with clear traces of indignation and disgust in his voice.

'Of course not, sweetheart, we're just buddies. So what do you say? I'm gonna play _Gangnam Style_ on the jukebox after that slow song ends, it's gonna be on you if you miss it out,' Helen shrugged and went for the jukebox, followed by a suddenly enthusiastic Josh.

'All the emotional maturity you pass on to your son,' Tristan said, in equal parts amazed and suspicious. 'You sure know how to cope with all the emotional turmoil,' he shook his head with a small smirk.

Paris shrugged impassively.

'I'm dealing the same way the rest of the grown-up population does when facing an emotional problem.'

Tristan gave her an incredulous look.

'Pretend it doesn't exist hoping my ignorance will make it disappear.'

Tristan chuckled.

'Working great so far, does it?'

'Yep. For example, falling for someone is like an oral herpes - no treatment actually works, you just have to sit it out until it goes away. It will make appearance every now and then, embarrass you every once in a while but it won't kill you as far as it doesn't generalize.'

Tristan could only blink a couple of times before he fell into a fit of laughter.

'You're something else, Geller,' he gasped in between snorts.

'Don't I know it,' Paris rolled her eyes. 'I'm gonna go take another beer,' she mumbled and started for the bar, trying to ignore the triumphant voice in her head that was all too glad she had managed to make him laugh so freely. Then she remembered who she was and, more importantly, who he was, and mumbled to herself. _Herpes, herpes, herpes..._

* * *

 **TBC**


	11. One Tiny Step

_Disclaimer : Still nothing's mine._

 _ **WARNING: Contains some M for language because Jess mouths off. Couldn't resist roaming through Jess' head, curious what you make of this chapter...**_

* * *

'If you wanna get on his good side, you have to let him lead, at least in the beginning. He has some deep-laid macho issues but once you tickle his male ego, he grows all soft and putty.'

They had reached a clearing where other dogs were running freely. Cerberus gave Rory a questioning look, asking for permission. She gave him a nod and smiled.

'Go play with your buddies.'

The black Labrador wagged his tail and ran towards the other dogs.

'He's quite popular with the ladies,' Rory filled Jess in.

'I don't want you to think he's entered the promiscuous phase of his puberty or something,' she further explained. 'He just gives off that dark masculine vibe of an alfa dog and he gets quite a lot of fangirling. Sometimes he can't resist all the female attention, if you get what I mean,' she finished conspiratorially. 'Jess?'

Jess looked at her. She held her steaming to-go coffee cup between mitten-clad hands, warming her palms on the leftover warmth. He wondered if there would be a time when simply walking side by side with her wouldn't feel like the ultimate privilege, without finding it hard to concentrate on a single thing she said because he felt like he was gonna implode.

Rory narrowed her eyes, searching his look. He let out a white puff of air and ran a palm through the hair above his right ear. He was nervous.

'You've hardly said a word since we met,' she tucked back a strand of her hair that was freely falling down over her shoulders today. 'Is there any particular reason you're suddenly freezing me out or are my Spidey senses tingling for nothing?'

Jess raked his teeth over his lower lip and looked around as if searching for something. He then took her coffee cup from her hands and dropped it into the nearby trash bin.

'Hey!' Rory made a step towards her disposed coffee.

However, she couldn't get far because Jess took hold of her waist and turned her to the side, winning a surprised whimper as her back hit the trunk of a tree. She was about to ask him what the hell he was doing but his mouth covered hers and his palms were on both sides of her head, cool fingers pressing against her cheekbones. She gasped as she felt his tongue enter her mouth slick, cold and insistent. She squeezed her eyes shut. His hands splayed back over her hips, pulling her into him, making the temperature scorching hot in a matter of seconds. There was no coaxing her into the kiss, no reacquaintance. It went directly from zero to ten. It was a kiss that could make you think doing stupid things was perfectly alright. It was dirty and consuming and amazing and twisted her in knots.

Rory heard something. A groan. This was her own voice right? She had to pull away. They were outside, french kissing like lovesick leeches, and it was the middle of the day. But she wouldn't. In fact, if he stopped doing what he was doing with his tongue right now, she would slap him, hard. He gave and took and then gave some more, and at some point Rory was pretty sure that had he tried to make a move and make this any more explicit than it already was, she wouldn't stop him. In fact, she felt like her body was humming with his proximity when nothing else had remotely felt that good in the last year. However, instead of taking the kiss any further, he stopped it, moving his mouth away as abruptly as he had moved in on her. His head dropped against her shoulder and she could hear his labored breathing. Maybe he was trying to get back his bearings just as hard as she was.

When he rested his forehead against hers meeting her eyes, he looked like an enormous weight had dropped off of his shoulders. No trace of the smug grin she would expected from him after he'd made her moan in the light of day in the middle of a freaking dog park.

'I've been needing to do this for some time,' he breathed out. 'I'm good to listen to you now.'

Rory blinked, slowly coming back to her senses.

Kill me. Just kill me now.

At least that one part between them seemed to still work with an amazing lack of effort and complications.

'You owe me a coffee,' she mumbled with more confidence than she gave herself credit for at the moment. He smirked.

'Will do.'

* * *

Jess looked ahead at Cerberus playing in the drying grass and rubbed his palms together. He had never been one to wear gloves, gloves were for prissies, but he couldn't deny that frostbite was a bitch.

Just minutes ago he had felt like it was the middle of July. Jeez, what had possessed him to act like that? He had all but manhandled her in plain view in a goddamn dog park. What had he been thinking? Was this the point he'd been trying to get through? Look at me, I'm ready for this. I may have acted like some stupid cowardly moron before but I'm ready to be the rock stable man beside you now, just give me a chance to prove it... By kissing your face off in a dog park. Shit. Good for you, Jess. What the hell were you thinking?

That was the point. He hadn't been. When she was around it was so easy to get lost in her and stop thinking at all.

Get it together, man. Freaking get it together. She's been quiet. Why is she quiet? She's usually rambling about something, how is she suddenly quiet? What are the odds I've hurt her tongue while playing he-man on her? Jeez.

Jess clamped both lips between his teeth and looked at her. They were sitting on a bench and she was finishing the coffee he had gotten her as compensation.

Rory met his look openly and put the to-go cup down into her lap.

'Can I ask you something?'

He arched an eyebrow, bracing himself. Were you always a conceited jerk? That would be a yes. Or maybe, are you planning on trying to get into my pants every time you face an emotionally complicated situation? Yeah, probably. Or what about - Jess, do you think you could not call me anymore because I've had enough of your shit and I don't want to deal with your complicated love slash fear slash guilt issues anymore? Please let it not be the last one.

He wetted his lips, feeling them get cold immediately.

'Ask away.'

'What was hating me supposed to engross?'

He blinked. He felt like he'd snapped out and missed some essential part of the conversation.

Rory studied his puzzled expression and shrugged, twisting the to-go cup between her hands.

'You were so adamant on keeping me away from your supposedly dark side. What would it be if we'd stayed together through this?'

He felt stupid. Like in really stupid. He must've had a blackout. He'd thought they were gone after the surgery but there was no such thing as a sure thing, right?

'What?.'

Rory sighed, leaning forward to leave her coffee on the ground next to her feet. She looked like she'd expected him to react like this.

'You would've hated me, that's what you said. I want you to elaborate.'

'Rory...' he took a breath and let it out slowly, running a hand through his hair. 'Can't we just move on past this?'

'No,' she folded her arms before her chest and looked up at him expectantly. 'Not until you tell me about all the twisty wicked thoughts you had or thought you'd have if we stayed together.'

He got the feeling that they were never really moving past this. No matter what he did, no matter how much time passed, they kept walking in circles, always getting to the memento of how they changed from loving to hurting each other. Not each other, really. Him hurting her. That's what it eventually came back to and no amount of mindblowing makeout sessions was about to make up for this simple fact. Shit.

'I don't know what you want me to say,' he sighed, suddenly feeling wary.

'The truth,' she said. 'All I ever wanted from you was the truth. Not what you thought I wanted to hear from you.'

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut as he saw the determination written in her look. Why did he have to fall in love with the most stubborn woman on the face of Earth? And why did he have to feel like he was entitled to screw up? The truth was, he really wanted to make it work between them this time. He knew she would give him a fair chance, but his biggest fear was he was gonna blow it just like he had done with the one before. Because really - what was different this time? Other than the fact that he was much more aware of the consequences of his own actions. He would give his best. He would do as much. He opened his mouth to say just that but clamped it shut, realizing how volatile this was.

Rory shook her head with a huff.

'Do you think I want this polished, apologetic, washed-off version of you? This isn't you, Jess,' she let out a mirthless laugh and rose a hand to press her mitten-covered point finger into his chest bone. 'This cautious, tiptoeing stranger is nowhere near the mouthy outspoken punk I fell in love with.'

Jess blinked, finding her words hard to assimilate. What?.

'I fell in love with the conceited jerk who doesn't care about people's rules and regulations. I felt safe with him because he was spontaneous and forward and had the nerve to manhandle me in a public park and feel smug about the way he made me forget my own name instead of beating himself up for not being someone I expect him to be. You seem so dead set on keeping yourself from ruining me but can't you see that's not the point, Jess?'

Really. That's not the point. Interesting then, what is?. Because he's always been a trainwreck in the making and he didn't really know how to keep her safe from that.

'Tell me what you envisioned for us while we were apart, Jess.'

Everything he'd been trying to shield her from, now she kept prodding for. They were caught into a stare off. He could see she had her mind set with a very slime chance of changing it. She wanted to hear the whole story and wasn't about to give up. The same way she hadn't given up on him after all this time. Why did she have to poke those wounds open? Maybe, inwardly, he had known she would do this, expected it all along. He had feared she would do just that, but had hoped she wouldn't. He wasn't surprised. It took a special kind of woman to love his poor self through all of his bullshit. And this kind of woman came at a price. She wanted to inspect every dusty secret corner of his mind and she wasn't gonna let him beat around the bush this time.

He stood up from the bench. Gave her another pleading look and, as he met her unrelenting eyes, gave her a small nod before he left without another word.

* * *

As soon as Rory opened the front door he brushed past her into the apartment. She followed him into the living room and watched as Jess plopped down into one of the two armchairs by the coffee table.

'At first I was just angry,' he started at once, as if he was afraid he would lose momentum if he paused. 'It wasn't personal but it was so powerful, it was directed to no one and everyone. I felt uncomfortable with the whole shitload I was suddenly feeling and I could feel myself quickly spiraling out of control. My first reaction was to try and shut down, keep you at a distance so that you didn't feel like you could've done a better job because you couldn't. Then I came to realize I felt pressured to feel optimistic and brave simply because you were still there. I felt like I had no freedom to vent about my loss because you were still something so potent and good in my life...' he shook his head, rubbing his point and middle finger against his lips, the memory bringing some of the old feelings of anger and loss of purpose back.

'And?'

He huffed, his patience wearing out.

'And I guess I tried to make myself thoroughly miserable. It didn't feel better but at least it felt less confusing. It's stupid.'

'That's how you felt,' Rory said calmly, taking the other armchair. 'I don't expect an excuse about the way you felt, I just wanna know how you felt. You don't have to justify it.'

Jess let out a sigh. This was torture.

'When I ended things, it was the first time I knew exactly how I felt and allowed myself to revel in the pain I caused both of us.'

She nodded slowly, as if she'd known this all along and was simply waiting for him to acknowledge it before getting further into the story.

'This is like fucking therapy,' he sneered and ran both hands through his hair, hanging his head back.

'You never believed I could handle you,' she said quietly and his head snapped towards her.

'What do you mean?'

'Please try and go on,' she said, her eyes a strange mixture of tired and understanding. 'Whatever it is, I can handle it.'

Jess tapped his fingers along the armrest. Stopped. Tapped them again. Then settled into the armchair, resting his elbows against his knees.

'I would get jealous at some point,' he started in a clipped, efficient manner. 'I would start putting words into your mouth, intentions into your head. I would insist you were oblivious to your mutual attraction to some random dude from work, that staying with me was only an act of pity and generosity. I would be able to tell that you wanted to move on to someone else but were too timid to act on it. I would urge you to go out dating, to let another man put his hands on you.'

He took a deep breath, his lung hurting with the quick expand. He felt as if he had dive jumped off some high cliff into dark muddy waters and he wasn't sure he even knew how to swim. However, once he was in so deep, he had to continue. Or drown.

'In my head I envisioned you living the life we were supposed to have, only it wasn't with me. I kept telling myself I was only in your way. My subconscience, however, didn't get the memo. I thought you were better off without me, but at the same time I thought of coming to your place. It would be dark but I would be able to picture all the corners and edges, so the image in my head was pretty vivid.'

Jess paused and chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes lost in the memory. His mouth was set to the side, as if he was having a distasteful inner debate.

Her brows furrowed.

'You're embarrassed.'

He rubbed both palms against his hair, puffing out a breath.

'You could say that,' he smirked, the smile not reaching his eyes.

'Why?'

He paused and rubbed his jaw. He was fidgeting. He didn't answer her question but continued changing topic instead.

'I thought I would be able to let you go, thought what I wanted for you was to move on and find someone...'

He shook his head with a bitter smile.

'However, in those thoughts you weren't anyone else's.'

Rory rested back in the armchair, her feet tucked under her, folding her arms before her chest as she watched him incredulously. There was something there, and he was trying to sidestep telling her about it. She had a pretty good clue what it was. Not the specifics of it, but what it probably came to. But that was the thing, she didn't want his safeguarded ambiguous half-truths, she wanted him to tell her everything.

'Go on.'

He let out a sigh, as if he'd expected her to say this.

'The lights would be off,' he huffed a frustrated breath out and stood up from the armchair abruptly, rubbing his palms over his face and pacing a couple of steps. 'Why do you wanna stew me? Is this some kind of revenge?'

'No.'

He slid his hands to the back of his head and locked them behind his neck, hanging his head back.

'What's the point? Why do you want me to tell you all this?'

'I want everything.'

'That's bullshit, Rory.'

'I wanna hear it anyway.'

'Really? You wanna hear how I stood in that corner of my rental blind as a mole getting high and jerking off on the thought of coming into your place at night and working you over so hard that you wouldn't be able to look at another man without thinking about me touching you?'

Rory set her jaw firm at his deliberate crude choice of words and lifted her chin as she stood up.

'Don't you get it? I want you. Your good and your ugly - I'll take it all. I want all the broken and uncensored parts of you along with the healed and lovable ones. You have to trust me to see you at your worst and find the reasons to hold onto you anyway. You can tell me everything, I will handle it. You just never gave me enough credit to do it.'

Rory made a few steps towards where he was standing.

'I missed you too,' she said, her eyes leveling his. 'I would put on a blindfold and think what it would be like if you were there, reaching for me in the dark. What it would be like to not see but to be able to feel you. To get as close to you as it was physically and emotionally possible.'

He watched her like hypnotized. His arms were hanging limp by his side and he looked like a reindeer in headlights. He hadn't expected her to look relieved. He had imagined she would prod around while she found something ugly and bitter to feed her irrational yearning for spontaneity and this whole spill your heart out session would be over. However, Rory didn't look appalled. Or hurt. Or put off. She looked relieved that all of this was finally out and they had reached a level of closeness they had been missing for almost an year. Hell, he'd never felt as close to her as he was feeling right now. Bared and vulnerable yet somehow... proud. Proud that this time around, he didn't succumb to the instinct to run. Instead, he applied himself.

There was a smile on Rory's face that reached her eyes and all that shone from them was love and relief.

'I knew you were a handful when we started this thing between us and I imagined it would take a lot of work. And it took ao much more work than I originally imagined. Yet, every time we were forced to compromise and find a way out of a bad situation, we fought through it and every single time it was worth it. Once I've had what we had, I'm not settling with convenience. You're everything to me, Jess, and I'm not settling with anything less. I'm willing to put that work into us as long as you're on board with me. But you have to stop freaking out whenever something good happens to you. You're worthy of being happy. You're not your mother.'

He cringed.

'You're not your father either,' she said just as gently. 'You're you and who you are is just enough to make this work.'

She lifted a hand to cup his cheek and felt his breath on an exhale against her wrist as he leaned into her touch.

'Only the Jess and Rory who are imperfect and lost, and spiteful every once in a while are true and only they can be perfectly imperfect together.'

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity Jess Mariano felt like he had (finally) made a step towards moving past this. A new page could be turned only when the old one was closed. But in order to do that, they had to read it to the last word. He'd never believed someone would be able to love him so thoroughly, take him as he came in the entity of his parts - the broken, along with the healed ones. He had been so blind. The irony of it.

Rory watched as her ex-boyfriend had a revelation.

There was this time when she was driving her first car. She was seventeen, had just gotten her driving license and climbed on that old Dodge Lancer, it was like the Frankenstein granny of all Dodge Lancers. However, she was driving around Miss Patty's but took the turn too short and crashed into a delivery truck. Thankfully, the truck was just stopping, so she got away with a couple of bruises and an ugly gash over her right elbow. The Dodge Lancer was quite useless after the incident, but Gypsy had been convinced the car had been good for nothing even before the crash. For a while Rory wouldn't want to drive. She got into college, then med school, and in the rare occasions when she did have to get on a car she would always get a queasy feeling when taking a turn from a back alley. The gash had healed in less than two weeks but if you took a closer look you could still see the thin white scar over her right elbow. Crashing didn't take away her joy from driving but it had put the fear there. Now she would always feel both. Joy and apprehension would compliment each other and remind her of the fear she'd felt, but also of how healing made it so much better.

'Don't ever hide yourself from me,' she pleaded, cradling Jess' face between her palms. 'Next time you have to choose between your fears and me, choose me. All this time, I wanted you to choose me, so bad. I waited for you to see that whatever else changed, you being my best shot at happiness would still be true. It took you forever to get that,' she chuckled a breathy half sob.

Jess felt the buzz of his blood rushing. It was getting really loud in his head. He had to do something - move, act or he was gonna shed a tear or whatnot. He caught her head between his palms, his fingers tangling into her hair as his thumbs rubbed against her jaw and his mouth closed on hers. She held onto his wrists for leverage.

This time around, all in meant all in. Whatever came out of this, at least they would know they had both given it their best try. Love wasn't enough. It took something so different from romantic love to make a happily ever after last - it was called hard work. To hold onto yourself and at the same time to open yourself for someone else. It was worth it but took so much courage. Once you got to your 'happily ever after', that's when the real legwork began. Because keeping your ever after was that fragile yet transcendent truth everyone reached for but so few got to. When you got to the matter of things, though, it wasn't impossibly complicated. Actually, it was quite simple. It really was only one tiny step. One tiny step, but you had to take it every single day.

* * *

 **TBC**


	12. Sink In

_Disclaimer : Still waiting for the day when I'll wake up and all will be mine. This day hasn't come yet._

 _ **A/N: To anyone who lets me know what they think - thank you!**_

* * *

He wore concentration well.

Concentration suited him.

If there was a _Concentration Trends This Winter_ contest, he would be the effortless winner.

The frown that divided his face in two.

The set of his jaw.

The tip of his tongue between his lips.

'Anytime now would be great,' Paris' voice carried through to Rory's ears. 'Doctor Gilmore?.'

'Eh?' she snapped out of the daydream.

'Whenever you're ready to give lusting over Dr Mariano a break, we're ready to stitch up, so you may want to speed the saline infusion up,' Paris elaborated, winning a surprised gasp from Rory and a scowl from Jess.

'What?' she shrugged. Both of her arms were flexed in the elbows and she was holding blood-covered surgical instruments in both of them. Otherwise Rory would've probably kicked her in the shin. However, she settled for a death glare.

'Hey, it's not my fault you were trying to conceive his love child by the sheer force of your stare. He's my assisting surgeon at the moment so keep it in your pants if you may. Just a couple more minutes until we stitch the guy up.'

'Jeez,' Jess shook his head, his scowl deepening.

The scrub nurse and the nurse anesthetist exchanged amused glances, suppressing a chuckle.

There were many good reasons why patients went through surgeries deeply sedated. And not all of those reasons were relevant to not feeling pain. Nobody in their right mind really wanted to hear what his doctors were chatting about over his open abdomen.

'Come on now,' Paris waved her hand holding the cautery pencil impatiently, 'This gut isn't gonna stitch itself. Chop chop. In our case stitch stitch.'

* * *

'What got you so edgy?' Rory arched an eyebrow curiously, following Paris as they entered the break room after the surgery.

'What do you mean? I'm Paris - I'm razor sharp edgy. Edgy is my middle name.'

Paris took her surgical cap and stethoscope off and shimmied out of her white coat, plopping into the break room sofa.

'Let's say you look freshly sharpened,' Rory shrugged and poured herself a cup of coffee, sitting on the sofa next to Paris. She turned to her friend to give her a sizing glance.

'You okay?'

'I have to talk to Mr Tall Blond and Stupid,' Paris sighed.

'Bummer. What has he done?'

'Nothing.'

'You're so cryptic today. Come on, I need some clues. Spill.'

'Clarissa has gotten it into her head that we should be her very special guests,' Paris groaned, closing her eyes as she rested her head back. 'Can you believe the way it sounds? Like we're some dudes who are gonna creep out of an asylum. Very special guest is an euphemism for serial killer right? But we're surgeons, so I guess we fit at least half of the description of serial killers. Oh whatever, I'm tired and I'm rambling.'

Rory smiled over her cup of coffee, taking a sip.

'Who is Clarissa?'

'Veggie Mom. We saved her dad and now she's acting like we're family or something. Can you believe she wants us at her son's baptism?'

'You and Tristan?'

'No, me and Vladimir Putin. Of course me and Tristan - he's my boyfriend of more than a year, remember?'

Rory chuckled. Frustrated Paris was so much fun.

'So go, baptism party sounds like some epic fun.'

'Huh.'

'So don't go. You've got a kid and work as a surgeon, you've got the ultimate excuse to miss any unwelcome gig.'

'I can't believe I'm trying to prove myself to a bunch of snobby Stepford moms,' Paris shook her head.

'You have nothing to prove.'

'It feels like I do.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. Just does.'

'So go. Take your dazzling boyfriend, put on something flirty and go. How bad can it be?'

'Wanna bet?'

* * *

'Look at us,' Paris sighed with hardly suppressed frustration, waving at his outfit. 'I feel like the book nerd just met the captain of the football team.'

While she was looking like a little pixie with her Tinkerbell green dress, Tristan was looking like a casual urban heart-throb. He had put on dark wash jeans with ankle combat boots and a casual coat over a 'What's up, Doc' Bugs Bunny print tee.

'So eager to fit me into the cliche,' he arched an eyebrow, taking off his beanie to put into the pocket of his overcoat as they entered the restaurant. He was sporting a short boxed beard and his hair was trimmed short. What normal man looked good in blazer, vest and a T-shirt with a cartoon character? Tristan Dugray, that's who.

'I'm offended,' Tristan said, not sounding the slightest offended.

'I'm still searching to find someone who managed to offend you and shake their hand.'

'Jeez, can you believe this?' he asked, looking around.

They had just entered the venue. The place was so heavily decorated, looking as if a wedding reception was gonna start any moment now.

'Did you say Veggie Moms' son's wedding?' Tristan whispered.

'Baptism. But I'm starting to have doubts.'

'O-kay... Smile and wave.'

Clarissa had spotted them and was approaching in an overly excited trot.

Paris tried not to stiffen as Tristan slid his hand around her waist. Of course he would, they were a happy enamored couple after all. Okay, let him lead. He's a natural when it comes to that kind of stuff. He'll do the talking, let him work his charm thing and they won't even pay attention to you.

Clarissa was chatting excitedly. Hugs were due. Yuk. Her hug with Tristan lasting probably a tad longer. Duh. And yuk. He was supposed to be Paris' boyfriend, parsley-obsessed moms weren't supposed to grope on him... right? Oh fuck it, let them grope. Whatever.

His hand was back on her. He was warm. At least his palm at the small of her back felt warm. And tall. He was so tall. Paris wasn't used to walking next to someone with such a height difference since Doyle was just a bit taller than she was and when she put on heels she got him at an eye level. With Tristan, she could put on kangoo jumps and still have to tilt her head up in order to talk to him. It was unnerving. In a rather exciting way.

Okay, so this hadn't happened to her for a while. Sure, the guy had his own womanizer magnetism, but there was something else, something apart from his Dugray charm, something familiar. Friendly. They were friends. Kind of sort of good friends. Helped and annoyed the hell out of each other. And she felt safe with him. Which made her wonder what it would be to act on the attraction she felt towards him. There was a time when he felt that attraction too. True, it was at a time when she was unattainable and probably that single fact factored in majorly. Yet...

They were mingling on their way to their table. Or at least he was. She was absently nodding and fake smiling. But nobody really paid attention. People were busy laughing at his jokes and watching as the dimple made appearance at the corner of his smile.

They reached their seats and she felt the whiff of his cologne as he leaned to pull her chair.

Would he try any advances on her? He was such a touchy-feely guy, always so tactile. And being in a fake relationship with her granted him the perfect opportunity to take advantage and explore some skin. It was something that came to him naturally and she felt lonely. She caught herself wishing he'd try to make a move. He got moves. Some of them were hilarious but some of them were good ones. It had been such a long time since anyone had been interested in making a move on her. It felt like all she was doing lately was piss people off with her straightforward manner and offhand comments. She was such an outtake. She was chronically unable to fit in, because honestly? People weren't interested in making the effort to adjust and make room for her. She had this enormous personality that took too much space, it got overbearing too quickly.

She was people's favorite person when they got a crisis situation. When somebody had a problem or an emergency, she was exceptional at handling a bad situation in a good way. Taking lead in damage control was her thing. However, other than that, she was just Paris Geller, tired med-bot mom and your average cutthroat bitch.

She shook the thought off. It didn't matter. She was who she was. Whatever. Only it did matter. For some stupid reason it did.

When she looked up she met Tristan's look. He was studying her with a serious look in his narrowed blue eyes.

'Come on,' he stood up and held out his hand.

'Where?'

'Let me dance with you for a while,' he said and took her hand, pulling her up.

She followed him on the dance floor where a growing number of couples were dancing to some slow song.

He led her to the far end of the dance floor and put her hand on his shoulder, placing his arms around her in a rather comforting than romantic way. The fact that he had read her right somehow took away her snark. Paris let out a sigh and rested her head against Bugs Bunny's hip leaning against a streetlamp pole holding his carrot under the 'What's Up, Doc' print.

'I miss the way he made me feel,' she mumbled. 'Like I was worth the effort because he saw all the good reasons to not give up on me.'

She took a deep inhale, feeling a prick in her eyes.

She was wondering if he had heard her at all.

Then she felt him stroke her hair and relaxed into his hold, letting him comfort her.

'If I cry don't let them see me,' she whispered.

'On it.'

His arms wrapped around her neck and he kissed her forehead.

'I feel lonely,' she said against his chest.

She felt the lips against her forehead move into a smile.

'I know.'

She was feeling like a tired boxer, her own thoughts throwing empty punches in her mind.

She inched back enough to look up at Tristan and lifted on her toes, edging closer to his mouth. Tristan shifted, tipping his chin to the side so that her lips met the skin of his neck.

'You don't need this,' he said, inching back so that their eyes met.

'Can you shut up and objectify me?'

He pushed a strand of her hair back from her eyes, the gesture affectionate and hopefully promising some action.

'No.'

Paris blinked.

'What?'

'I'm not letting you use me as a temporary fix, Paris,' Tristan explained calmly, the smile ghosting over his lips as he kept their eyelock.

Really?. The guy was whoring himself out of proportion to random bimbos but suddenly he was offended by the prospect of noncommittal sex with her? Although he didn't sound offended. Just... not interested. Great. What did they say about high school? Duh. They're right. Never ends. Like, ever.

Tristan tipped her chin up with his thumb.

'You don't need validation. You don't need distraction. You're so much better than this.'

Paris was torn between the need to roll her eyes and slap him. She could, in fact, do both. Step one - roll her eyes. Step two - smack him with her clutch. Yep. She had an IQ much higher than the average so she could do a non-complex sequence of actions as roll her eyes and slap someone for pretending to be a gentleman when what she needed was just the opposite. She wanted to yell at him that guess what, she wasn't better than this. In fact, she was in for some hot, shameless rubbing of epidermis because it had been months since she'd last done that and it had been so long since anyone had put their arms around her.

'What are you doing?' she asked him as he started ushering her towards the exit.

'Being your friend.'

'We're just gonna leave like that?'

'Let them think we're sneaking out to have some urgent steamy sex.'

'Are we?' she asked hopefully.

She heard him chuckle.

'No.'

He put on his overcoat and helped her put on hers.

'Are we going to my place?' she asked as they walked outside and he dialed for a cab.

'Yes.'

'Are you coming up?'

'No.'

'Because I'm so much better than your one night stands,' she rolled her eyes. There - she did it. Rolled her eyes. She could smack him now, right?

Tristan exhaled with uncharacteristic frustration. Usually he was pretty laid-back, solid.

'Because I don't trust myself to not change my mind.'

They stood for a moment, silently staring at each other. She was first to shake her head and sit down on one of the street benches near the entrance of the restaurant. He sat down next to her, stretching his feet forward, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She didn't pull away. It was freezing outside anyway.

'I probably have daddy issues,' she mumbled.

'Who doesn't,' Tristan shrugged, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, as if he knew she needed the physical comfort.

'I've checked it up. There are randomized trials that favor the fact that girls who didn't have a stable father figure in their life as kids feel unable to love themselves and develop low self-esteem as adults.'

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes.

'Why aren't you saying anything?'

'Because I don't feel like I have anything to add to that.'

'Great.' Paris shook her head with a sigh. 'Forget it. Let's get this night over with,' she stood up.

'You're some hot piece of ass, Paris,' Tristan said from his place on the bench behind her.

'Excuse me?' she turned back.

'You are,' he shrugged, his stretched feet still crossed at the ankles and his hand still draped at the back of the bench, as if she hadn't just stood up.

'But you know you're so much more than a piece of ass. And any man in their right mind, even the stupid ones, can see it the moment they lay eyes on you. It's not that you're not noticed.'

'Gee thanks,' Paris rolled her eyes. Go pity pep talk.

He studied her for a moment. Then looked around to check if they were alone, stood up and walked up to her. As he reached where she was standing he took her hand and placed it directly over his crotch.

'What the...'

'You're much more complicated than this,' he tilted his head towards their hands under his belt. 'You're hot but more than that, you're fierce, loyal and full of sass. Own it.'

He then stepped back letting her hand go.

She realized he had headed for the cab that was now pulling in by the curb. She took a moment, shook her head and followed him, climbing in the cab through the door he held open for her. He climbed in at the front and she was left alone in the backseat, wondering when exactly through the span of their conversation he had managed to become fully turned on. And as they climbed out of the cab twenty minutes later, she didn't feel unnoticed. They stood by the waiting cab, the sound of the running engine filling the silence as they stared at each other.

'So.'

'So.'

'I'll see you at work.'

'Sadly. Your sickeningly friendly face keeps popping up everywhere I go.'

'Night, Paris.'

'Night, Tightpants.'

She heard him chuckle as he climbed into the cab. The car started and was soon out of sight, the night enveloping the surroundings with its chilly quiet. Paris turned towards her apartment building and inhaled, letting the silence sink in. Her eyes paused over a dimly lit window with Mutant Ninja Turtles drapes print. Paris imagined a small lanky figure sleeping in the bed. He had her blonde hair, her sass, her energy and impossible temper. And there was nothing wrong with him. And, for the first time in a long while, she felt there was nothing wrong with her either.

* * *

'It's just skin. Yet...' Rory watched her hand draw lazy eights across Jess' abdomen, making his muscles quiver every once in a while. 'It's what transpires beyond the physical touch that matters.'

When it was just desperate hands reaching for something, this something was so much more than simple sensory stimulation. That was the moment when you felt that the other person rubbed on your soul. Felt like soul exchange.

'What did you miss about me?' she asked, resting her chin over his chest bone.

He smiled, weighing a strand of her hair over his fingers and letting it slide.

'Stumbling over your heels in the corridor,' he answered.

'The way you rub your cheek in your pillow before you wake up.'

'Your first look when you open your eyes in the morning.'

'Your tea bags in the trash.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'I thought you found them gross.'

'Me too.'

'Wow.'

'Yeah. My pillow smelling like your cologne.'

'The feel of your skin when I rub my nose in your neck.'

'And the graze of your stubble over my nape.'

'Stealing glances with you in the OR.'

'Discussing cases with you.'

'You naked.'

'Nakey nakey time. Oh boy, did I miss that.'

Both smiled. Then she shifted so she was leaning on her elbow.

'Would you undo any of this?'

Jess tucked her head back under his chin and let out a pensive sigh.

'I don't know. The aftermath is positive, I guess.'

She rested her cheek over his chest.

'We're here now.'

'We're here now.'

'And would you?'

'Eh?'

'Change the way we got here,' he elaborated.

Rory rested her chin on his chest bone, contemplating.

'There's that one thing.'

He waited for her to continue, his fingers absently threading through her hair, spilling it over his chest.

'I could watch you and you could never know... I should've taken more time admiring your butt.'

His chest rumbled with suppressed laughter and he gave her ribs a playful nudge. She tried to wiggle out of his hold but he only caught her tighter, using one hand around her waist to hold her draped over him and the other to tickle her mercilessly. In a while they paused, looking at each other in that cliche moment realizing they could use their naked time for far more enjoyable stuff than tickling the hell out of each other.

Jess lifted a hand to curl her hair behind her ear. She watched him with parted lips. She felt like she'd missed him for a whole epoch and now that he was reachable all she wanted to do was submerge into a Jess sea, letting the happiness sink in.

'Pillow talk,' she uttered.

He kept the eyelock.

'Naked truths.'

'God, I miss the naked truths,' she groaned, making him smile.

It was better than the feeling of the wind over your skin when you stood up arm-spread from a vehicle, better than the freedom of jumping off a cliff into serene water, better than the hum of your muscles when you walk into a hot bath. It was better than your first morning yawn and stretch, better than opening an envelope to find good news, better than digging a forgotten candy out of your coat pocket, better than the opening credits of a Tim Burton movie, better than a first sip of coffee, better than getting to scrub in last minute for an abdominal aneurysm graft surgery. The morning after waking next to the person who made your world this amazing magical place where making them smile brought on so much giddiness, you felt like you just climbed the fucking Olympus. That's when you let happiness sink in.

* * *

 **TBC  
**


	13. Tigger's Keeper

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine.  
_

 ** _A/N: Paris steps in. Felt kind of intense, writing this chapter. I'm curious how you feel about it._**

* * *

Doctor Geller and Doctor Henderson were glaring at each other in a glass window walled office in _St Benedict's Trauma Center_.

Doctor Geller was seemingly losing her patience. Or maybe she simply acted with irritated frustration towards the whole outside world, considering discussing medical cases with another medical professional a shameless waste of air. She seemed like the kind of doctor who effectively scared their patients into health and rarely needed help doing that.

'He can't lose his leg,' she said for the umpteenth time.

'That's what you've been repeating for the last hour.'

'Duh. Because it's the truth.'

'The truth is he may go septic in a matter of hours if we don't act on the infection.'

'Then act on the infection,' she looked up at the ceiling as if asking for divine help. Why were all doctors who weren't her complete dumb-shells, eh? Why?

She took a steadying breath and told herself to be cool.

'I saw you got i.v. antibiotic started,' she said with forced patience. 'If his leg is iced and cooled to ninety degrees there is a fair chance we may slow necrosis.'

'You're only delaying the inevitable,' Dr Henderson shook his head.

'Not if we manage to get full reperfusion.'

'This is insane.'

'Not insane, just harder than average.'

'You need a highly qualified team for such kind of surgery.'

'Then I'll get one. Imagine that, had I not been rendered to argue the obvious, I would've gotten that team together. But no - here you are wasting my time.'

'Are you always this stubborn?'

'Always.'

'He has localized infection now. He's gonna get a generalized infection and turn from stable to critical in a matter of hours. Are you really gonna take that risk?'

'Yes.'

'Well I'm not.'

'He chose me to be his emergency contact. I'm the person he chose to make those decisions for him.'

'And I'm his attending doctor meaning I'm gonna set the range of decisions you may choose from.'

'I'm gonna file charges.'

'Pleading what exactly?'

'I'll think of something.'

'I'm sure you will.'

'Okay, try me. I'll start with professional incompetence and lack of integrity.'

'Excuse me?.'

Paris huffed, the whole exchange draining her already battered nerves.

'You know there is a chance we can save his leg, you're just too queasy to take it,' she said with contempt.

'I'm scrupulous, not queasy.'

'Your scrupulousness may cost a young fit man his leg.'

'Is this about him being... fit?' Dr Henderson asked disbelievingly. Was this woman completely insane?

'You don't understand, do you?' Paris shook her head. 'He is a very physical person. He's always been a jock. His body has always been his temple and a huge part of how he interacts with the outside world depends on him feeling fit. It's always been who he is, much more than it has been for you or me.'

'So now you know me too, huh?'

'Oh please. If you were like that, we wouldn't be leading this conversation, because you would understand without me having to explain it to you.'

Dr Henderson folded both arms before his chest, a look of displeasure on his face. He was gonna say no to the surgery. She saw it in his eyes. She took a breath.

'You know what one of the first socially embedded concepts we get in childhood is?' Paris asked, forcing some of the belligerence out of her voice and replacing it with her calm reasoning tone... if she ever had such a tone. Oh, hell with it. She had to make that obtuse man see. 'Shame,' she answered her own question, not giving him enough time to come up with a wrong answer. 'Right after love and trust and the feeling of our own self, shame is one of the first feelings society teaches a young human.'

She took another breath,telling herself it was now or never.

'I know Tristan Dugray, and he is never been ashamed of a single thing he's done. He is far from perfect, he's this hybrid between chauvinistic pig, ridiculous clown and considerate human being, and he's never been pretending to be anything else. He is who he is and he's never felt an ounce of regret about what this ensues. If you take away his chance to keep that, you're gonna change him irrevocably. I'm asking you to give him a chance.'

'You're willing to risk leaving his son without a father for the slime chance of this guy keeping his male ego intact?'

Paris chewed on her lower lip, the concern in her frown deepening.

'He chose me to act in his best interest. This is what I'm trying to do.'

'If he wasn't your friend, if he was just a patient and you had to make this decision as his attending doctor, what would you do?' Dr Henderson asked, his eyes sharp.

Paris sighed, knowing he had a fair point. Matthew Henderson was a chauvinist. Maybe not the disrespectful kind, but he was a manly male. A man of reason. In his eyes, she was just another crazed hormone-driven female led by her overtly emotional judgement. And she got that. She did. Because in all other situations, she was the voice of unadulterated reason. She was the harsh truth. In any other situation, had their roles been switched, she would be the chauvinist. But she knew Tristan. This morning he had went out of his apartment building and walked by some building in construction. A couple of different sized construction blocks slipped out as a security belt snapped loose, resulting in a couple of casualties, Tristan included. one could say they were lucky. There were no death cases, only people with different versions of broken this and bruised that. Tristan got a concussion that resulted in a (as the consulting neurologist assured her numerous times) temporary loss of consciousness and a smashed left shin. She had required to see his leg as soon as she got the call and arrived at the hospital. It wasn't pretty. The trauma was extensive, engaging the nerves and vessels, as well as the muscles and bones. Everything was a bleeding mush of bone and muscle and decisions had to be made quickly. Tristan would probably regain consciousness in a couple of hours. They didn't have hours. A decision had to be made. And that's why Paris was here, leading a heated debate with Dr Chauvinism is Us.

 _If he wasn't your friend, if he was just a patient and you had to make this decision as his attending doctor, what would you do?_

The question was still lingering, the air filled with a heavy silence. She hadn't answered it, Paris realized. Not out loud. She looked the man before her square in the eyes. _If he was just a patient and you had to make this decision as his attending doctor, what would you do?_

'I'm not his attending doctor. That's what he has you for,' she said with what sounded to Dr Henderson a little like sadness, if people like her were ever capable of feeling sadness at all.

'You wouldn't be willing to risk losing a patient over his chance to save his leg,' he answered for her, not needing affirmation that he was right. He was, she had let him read it in her eyes.

'But I'm willing to ask you to do exactly this,' she jutted her chin out, keeping the eyelock.

They kept the stare off for what felt like hours but was probably a couple of minutes. At last Dr Henderson let out a sigh.

'Four hours. If you don't get a team and arrange surgery in the next four hours, I'm gonna proceed with distal amputation. If he starts crashing because of crush syndrome, I'm gonna proceed with amputation regardless your four hours. If he wakes up earlier, I'm gonna do my best to convince him to go with amputation anyway. Do you understand me?'

 _Finally_.

'Don't distract me. I'm gonna need the fucking Avengers team here in less than an hour,' Paris mumbled to herself, leaving the room as she fished for her mobile.

* * *

'Have you formed a game plan for the afternoon with Aiden?' Rory asked Jess while she was changing her trainers for her new pair of ankle boots to get ready for work. They had managed to get Josh to kindergarten and Aiden to school without too much fuss. Being a surgeon had its perks. For example, when you suddenly turned missing, your friends could always tell your son you got an emergency call from the hospital and got called in for a surgery. Which was technically true, for both Paris and Tristan. By a far stretch.

Rory was getting ready to go work a shorter shift since she had to take Josh from kindergarten later in the afternoon and managed to swap shifts with a colleague anesthesiologist. It was Jess' day off so he had taken his shoes off and was moving around the kitchen making tea.

'There's a Nick Saluk's exhibition, I'm taking him after school,' Jess answered. 'What about you and Josh?'

'I'm taking Josh to _Monkey See Monkey Do_ Bookstore after work. There's gonna be a _Winnie the Pooh_ gig. For weeks Josh has been bugging me to tell him which character I am, so I made a quick search on our way back this morning.'

'Which character you are,' Jess repeated, pausing with a teabag over his steaming mug to give her a thoughtful look. Then, as he seemingly found the answer, he smirked contently and dipped the tea into the water, letting it simmer. 'You're Pooh.'

'Oh come on, I always thought I'm Tigger,' Rory said while jumping on one leg, trying to get her foot into her ankle boot. 'Cheery-friendly-quirky - see, that's practically me. I even rhymed that one,' she gave him a wink.

'You're Pooh,' Jess insisted. 'He's the one who connects them all, he is the glue to their little weirdo party.'

Rory swept imaginary sweat off her forehead, taking a deep breath of relief as she managed to stuff both feet into their respective boots.

'Phew.'

'If they're so uncomfortable, why did you buy them?' he gestured towards her boots.

Ah, men would never understand shoes.

'Cause I'm off to conquer the world?' she shrugged.

Jess' brows rose skeptically, eyeing her boots.

'Somehow I doubt these are the right shoes.'

'Right... Eeyore.'

Rory had just shimmied into her coat when her phone rang. She fished it out of her bag and checked the caller ID.

'It's Rabbit,' she whisper-informed Jess before picking up.

'Hey, Paris. Did he wake up?'

She listened to Paris' answer, frowning a little.

'Oh. I see. But that's... good, right?'

Jess threw her a questioning look and Rory shrugged with a puzzled expression.

'But he is gonna get better, right? I mean, you're calling the A-team and they're gonna try to resume intact perfusion...' she half-asked, half-hopefully-guessed. 'Alright, alright. Sorry for sounding like an antsy relative.'

She handed Jess the mobile with a sulky expression.

'She wants to talk to you.'

Jess took the mobile.

'Paris.'

He listened for a while, his brow furrowing in thought. He wetted his lower lip and gave a small nod to no one in particular. He listened for another moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

'Paris, you know what you're doing.'

With that, he gave Rory the mobile back. She looked between her phone and Jess.

'What was that?' she asked incredulously.

Jess rubbed his jaw pensively.

'Paris is having decision freakout. She asked me to listen her out and then tell her that she knows what she's doing without questioning her, so that's what I did. Then she hung up.'

'Oh.'

There was a pang in Rory's chest at the fact that Paris would turn to Jess in moments of insecurity. They had this special bond between them, the bond that forms between survivors who had to be on their own for too long. She couldn't fully understand it and sometimes felt like a child left out of a room where grown-up adults were discussing a serious problem. Somehow, the fact that she had a family she could count on made her the odd one here and every once in a while this imposed isolation would bug her. Not enough to pick up a fight, she wasn't some sort of friend-possession crazed chic after all. It just made her feel a little left out. Like today. Paris was her friend first, wasn't Rory supposed to be the best friend, and not Jess? Rory shook her head at the thought, realizing how childish it was.

'She does, right?' she asked then, making Jess look up at her.

'Huh?'

'Know what she's doing. She does, doesn't she?'

Jess let out a pensive sigh.

'She's Paris.'

Whatever that meant.

He took another breath and shrugged.

'If anyone can get this done, that's her. She's Rabbit, after all. Rabbit gets Tigger out of all kinds of trouble.'

* * *

The hospital room was dusky and quiet. The only light coming in came from the streetlamps through the closed windows. It was still mid-afternoon but the sun set down earlier these days.

Paris made a couple of steps and stopped before reaching the bed.

'Have you paid attention to your nose?' she asked the man sleeping in the hospital bed. How convenient of him, to have a concussion when important decisions had to be made. 'How it somehow doesn't belong to the rest of your face? It's pinched and... insufficient when you smile, it just doesn't work with the chin and eyes, have you noticed?'

The room was silent. Only the low buzz of the monitor's inflatable cuff could be heard as it measured Tristan's blood pressure.

'Sometimes this gave me some loose sense of comfort in high school - you know, when you were being an ass to me. At least he has an insufficient nose, I would tell myself.'

Paris moved her mouth to the side, folding her arms before her chest, looking elsewhere but at him.

'Your attending doctor is a clutz and Mercury has been in retrograde since last Monday. How do you exactly expect me to handle this?'

She drew in a sharp breath and let it out shakily, licking her lips.

'Could you drag your work-shy brain back here so we could get back to our natural routine where I'm annihilating your ego and you're letting me because you take sick pleasure in it? Because this stunt you're pulling on me... The kids are with Rory and Jess, we haven't told Aiden yet. Do you realize that if there's any existing etiquette for getting hit by collapsing concrete elements, you're violating it completely?' she looked around the room, carefully avoiding his peacefully unconscious face. 'You're gonna be taken to the OR a couple of minutes from now and get operated on. That's what you get for enlisting me as your emergency contact.'

Paris bit both of her lips in, risking a brief glance at him. He was such an organic guy. She was already risking too much, insisting on having the surgery intended to save his leg done. However, if something went wrong, she would have to let Henderson proceed with amputation.

It could be worse, she tried to tell herself. Distal knee amputation wasn't as bad as femoral amputation... Who was she kidding, Tristan and a bionic prosthesis worked even less than his insufficient nose amidst his grinning face.

'Don't fail me okay?' she asked in a smaller, pleading voice right before she turned and left the room.

* * *

In another part of the city, there was a book-walled room with a cozy little stage surrounded by a couple dozens of tiny wooden chairs. On one end of the stage a plush rabbit toy was setting a bird free while on the other end a plush bear and its fellow piglet were sitting on a small hill, looking at the sunset. The bear said he hoped spring was coming soon as he couldn't wait to see Kessie again. The piglet found it peculiar as all this time he thought Rabbit didn't like the bird. The bear said that sometimes people cared too much and he thought it was called love. This amazed the piglet who asked if they should go tell Rabbit. The bear reassured the piglet that he believed Rabbit already knew.

* * *

 **TBC**


	14. Shine

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

* * *

'They asleep?' Rory looked up from the couch where she'd settled with a book and a blanket over her feet.

'Josh pretends not to want to sleep but he's been rubbing his eyes like crazy. Aiden is almost asleep the moment he smells the pillow. I left them to play camp in the bedroom. They're reading tales over a torch in your old tent while Cerberus keeps guard outside. Aiden is probably already asleep and I think Josh will follow suite soon enough. How was your day?'

Jess sat down next to her and stretched his feet forward, throwing an arm behind her shoulders at the back of the couch. Rory smiled.

'Took the boys to the park after work, made soap bubbles on the way home.'

Jess' brows rose in surprise.

'Didn't you freeze? It must be what - forty degrees outside?'

'Freeze we did. But it was fun. It started snowing just as we neared the apartment.'

Rory rested her head over his shoulder, closing her eyes.

'What about you? Did you save lives today, Dr Mariano?'

'Ah, the longest twenty-four in my life. I think there's epidemic appendicitis, can't remember doing so many appendectomies in one week.'

'Poor baby.'

He mock pouted.

'Any news from Paris?'

Jess' face turned serious.

'Last time I checked, they were waiting for him to wake up after the anesthesia. The team did their best to get reperfusion.'

'What about her? How is Paris doing?'

Jess let out a quiet sigh.

'Why don't you call her? She'll be glad to hear from you. In her own brutally honest neurotic way.'

Rory's shoulders sagged.

'I don't know... I feel like she's circling me out sometimes. Like I'm this god-blessed, carefree child who's been living in her happy bubble all my life and can't possibly understand the turmoil of real-life grown-ass problems.'

Jess gave her a look, silently regarding her.

'Okay, you need to talk to Paris.'

Rory let out a frustrated groan.

'And say what? That I can relate to her deep shuddering pain? Because this conversation is gonna end so well.'

'I guess it's a no then?'

Rory bumped her forehead against his shoulder, letting out a huff. He rubbed his palm up and down her arm, drawing her closer to put a kiss on top of her head.

'Don't beat yourself up, after all she has Tristan there. I mean, it's not like she has to face this whole situation completely alone, right? Because once he wakes up from the anesthesia, he's surely gonna be of great supp-'

'Okay, mindfucker,' she rolled her eyes. 'Gimme the phone.'

'Why? Are you gonna call your best friend? What made you change your mind?'

Rory threw him a death glare.

'I hate you.'

'Ah, but you love me.'

'True, yet I'm gonna make your life miserable when I get the chance.'

'Can't wait.'

'It's gonna be so good when you're the one squirming.'

'And I'm gonna take whatever you give, gladly.'

She granted him another withering stare that he met with a smile, making himself comfortable in the now empty couch. Even if she pretended to give him a hard time, he knew she was bluffing. He let a satisfied smirk creep up his lips as he heard Rory's voice from the kitchen, calling Paris.

* * *

'Happy to see me, Paris?'

'Inwardly singing psalms, throwing confetti.'

He gave her a wink from the bed. She stepped closer and took the nearby chair.

'I see you've missed me,' he tried to joke, addressing her furrowed eyebrows. She was inspecting the outline of his legs, as if she could X-ray them from their place under the bed covers.

She moved her mouth to the side and her frown deepened.

'Do you feel your leg?'

'You mean the aching pile of bone and muscle threatening to disintegrate any minute now? Yep. All nerve endings screaming in agony.'

She blew out a breath, trying not to let the relief show and probably failing miserably.

'The pain is doing amazing things for my adrenaline levels, don't get me wrong, but I asked the nurse for some painkillers.'

Tristan tried to go for what was supposed to be a lopsided grin but the corners of his mouth quivered with the effort not to cringe as another jolt of pain visibly crossed his body.

'Have you by any chance asked the neurosurgeon to displace some nerve endings so that you make me suffer my well deserved share of universal punishment for being too sexy for my own good?'

Paris pretended to slap her forehead in surprise.

'Jeez, how did I not think of that earlier?'

Tristan let out a smile, this one short but more genuine.

Paris started to get up. His hand caught hers. Paris looked down at their joined hands and then towards him. His fingers closed tighter around her wrist for a moment.

'I saw the report.'

She hadn't heard his voice so deep and hoarse.

He had seen the report. The one with his X-rays there. Tristan was a trauma surgeon, he was perfectly aware of the extension of the trauma he had suffered during the accident. He knew the risks related to his surgery. He knew that if his foot healed it would be because of her and her stubbornness. He also knew that if he had gone septic and died it would be because of her stubbornness. Because great determination came with great risks. The stakes had been so high and Tristan Dugray had never been a gambler. Was he gonna choose the same if he had been awake at the time decisions were made? Paris was starting to have doubts.

She felt a gentle squeeze around her wrist. Tristan's fingers were long and warm around her hand, prompting her to look at him.

His eyes were vivid, the blue of a summer storm - warm and intense.

She let out another breath. She had been holding a lot of these.

His look was open and unusually tender. He was grateful. A little short of words. And reaching towards something he was vaguely aware of yet didn't completely understand, pleading for her to meet him halfway. And somehow it all transpired.

And the kindness of his look was unbearable.

Guys like Tristan Dugray weren't supposed to have such intense kindness in them. They were supposed to be two-dimensional and superficial, showing interest in everyday prosaic stuff. Like what's for dinner. Does the car accelerator sound differently today? Is that nurse from pediatrics sporting as big of a crush on me as I'm suspecting she is? How can I make my boss promote me/give me free tickets for the football season/let me drive his new car/insert random stuff guys finds entertaining here. Two-dimensional. Because men like Tristan Dugray were supposed to fit the stereotype. The man holding onto Paris' wrist had layers under the macho exterior and the deeper she got, the more irate she felt. It was getting progressively confusing. In the last couple of months Tristan Dugray had witnessed more Paris breakdown than any of her friends had. He had played some unlikely kind of rock for her and this very fact was confusing and disturbing in itself. She tugged on her hand, slipping her wrist away without resistance because he let it free at the notion, feeling the spell break. Maybe they would reach a point where they were gonna have this conversation. Maybe some day. But it wasn't gonna be today.

'I just can't wait to hear I'm not one night stand material,' she whispered in his ear before she stood up and left the room, passing by Dr Henderson on her way out.

'She's something fierce,' Dr Henderson said as he neared Tristan's bed, looking in the direction where Paris just left.

'That she is,' Tristan said, observing the other man closely. Matt Henderson wasn't a guy who got intimidated by a woman's brains and overwhelming personality. He looked intrigued. Like an art collector who had just stumbled upon a rare piece of work. He was a connoisseur.

And when Matt Henderson looked back at Tristan Dugray, there was a matching feeling of admiration for a woman who would move Heaven and Earth for the ones closest to her. Paris Geller was electric and could never go unnoticed.

'I think I'd like to get drugged now,' Tristan sighed. 'Can you arrange it?'

* * *

'Hey, how are you? I got a little worried when I got your call, is everything allright?'

Paris looked up from her place in the booth of the cafe where she had asked to meet Rory and let out a huff.

'I hate how people see me.'

Rory narrowed her eyes, inspecting her friend more closely and took the seat opposite her.

'O-kay.'

'Because when people see me, they see responsibility. They see a mother, a doctor, a friend. They see all the things they want to have done for them. And the burden of being seen like this is just...' Paris made a fist with her hand and thumped it against the table. 'It's anchoring me to the ground so hard, sometimes I just need to... reel. He lets me reel.'

Rory gave Paris a slow nod. Okay, so they were having this conversation. She made herself comfortable in the booth, took her scarf and coat off and let her thoughts attune.

'He doesn't judge,' Rory said with understanding.

'He doesn't.'

'With parenthood your life got more... real?' Rory put it like a question and Paris gave her a nod.

'It's hard to pretend you're anything but yourself, you need people who accept who you are without asking questions,' Rory continued, looking at Paris so she could correct her if she got it all wrong. She hadn't.

Paris bit on her lip and gave Rory a nod.

'Maybe it's good that you found someone who doesn't make you hold your breath all the time,' Rory gave an encouraging smile.

'Thank you for understanding.'

'Thank you for letting me in. And just for the record, you're allowed to screw up.'

Paris opened her mouth to say thank you again but choked on an exhale.

The waitress came and Rory ordered for both of them, sparing Paris the need to talk, making it easier to keep her voice in check.

'He could've lost his leg,' Paris said quietly as the waitress left their table to place their order. 'Or gone septic. He could've died on me.'

Rory sought Paris' eyes.

'You did good.'

''Yeah. Because he survived. We wouldn't be leading this conversation if he hadn't done well through the surgery.'

'Paris, you did good even when it wasn't clear he would make it through. You can't control everything, some things are simply beyond you. You did your best, that's all you could've done and you did it.'

Paris was staring blankly ahead, Rory's words hardly registering in her head.

'It's okay, Paris. You did good.'

'What am I doing?' Paris deflated, resting her head in her palms, both elbows over the table. 'I almost killed him so I could save him. What am I doing?'

'I think you're falling for Tristan Dugray.'

Paris looked up, surprised. Rory shrugged.

'We were in the park and you were looking at Josh with this look of intense care and pride that makes your eyes shine. They were wrestling with Aiden and Tristan in the grass. And at some point your look landed on Tristan. And the shine was still there.'

Paris could try to argue but didn't have the willpower to get into a pointless argument. But it was so confusing - he was the Jack from _Hit The Road Jack_. And she... she was Paris. She had the subtlety of a Francis Bacon painting, for God's sake.

Rory smiled, seeing the conflicting emotions over her friend's face.

'I won't pretend to understand the specifics of your relationship with Tristan Dugray but you've been more of your tough cookie self since he's been around. So,' Rory looked for a word, 'he's good influence, I guess.'

Paris had done her best not to think about the benefits part of her friendship with Dugray. The non-existent benefits of it. She had tried not to think about that, which naturally resulted in overthinking it completely.

'I don't think I can do the second hand lovers thing with him. I'm feeling stuck in a shameful waste of estrogen when it comes to ogling his cut body. Awfully cut. Appallingly cut. Yet... he makes it feel less like I'm failing.'

'Failing?' Rory frowned, confused. 'At... what?'

'I don't know. Life. Parenthood. Myself. The worst is when I fail at being myself. It's like I have this image of who I am supposed to be and what I'm supposed to achieve, and when I compare my actual life with this image it's all fail, fail, fail. It's frustrating.'

'I guess everybody does. But if you could see yourself from a distance, you would totally adore yourself.'

'Oh, I do. I adore myself all the time. I just have a hard time liking myself.'

'You're holding on so tight,' Rory said with a loving smile. 'You can let go, Paris. It'll still be okay of you allow yourself to let go.'

'I'm such a sap,' Paris muttered irately, resting her forehead against her palm. 'I'm starting to look like a pile of emotional goo, I'm practically you.'

'Smooth, Paris,' Rory shook her head with a laugh. 'Real smooth.'

'Like a criminal. Shit. I should've arranged to meet you in a liqueur store, I need booze to survive this kind of conversation.'

* * *

He was lying on the couch when she walked in after her meeting with Paris, kicking her shoes in the hall. She huffed a 'hey' and went into the kitchen to unload the bags of groceries she had brought on her way back. Josh and Aiden were at school and Paris was gonna take them today, so they were free for the night. When she walked back into the living room, Jess was still lying on the couch, one arm folded under his neck.

Rory stopped to give him a studying look.

'Hello there... dark brood.'

Jess' lips twitched but the smile didn't travel up his eyes. He was deep in thought. She knew to leave him be. When he felt ready, he'd talk.

She picked a book from the bookshelf and settled into the armchair at the foot of the couch. An hour may have passed with neither of them talking. At some point he had closed his eyes and she thought he'd fallen asleep.

'I had a patient today,' his voice came, a little raspy due to the lack of current use. He was looking at her from his spot on the couch.

Rory put her book down, a silent indication she was ready to listen.

'A man with punctured spleen. His wife stabbed him with the kitchen knife. He cheated on her with some colleague of his, kept the affair going for some time until she found out. He ended things. His wife split with him. That was about an year ago. A couple of months into the break-up they started talking again. She forgave him, they got back together. Everything seemed fine enough until last night when something snapped and she came at him with the kitchen knife. Guess she did hold a grudge after all.'

He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes troubled but intent.

'What I did to you... It's kind of unforgivable.'

'Jess, are you asking me if I'm gonna butcher you with our kitchen knife due to some deeply suppressed revenge issues?' she asked, amazed.

Now that she put the situation like that, what he was asking her did in fact sound kind of cringe-worthy.

'Maybe.'

He opened his mouth to apologize but then he caught a better look at her. She had sucked in her cheeks, looking up at the ceiling. He stood up from the couch and knelt next to her, tugging at her hand gently, lacing their fingers.

'Ror.'

She shook her head, more to herself than to him, as if she was debating an idea she wasn't fully on board with.

'Come on, Ror. Tell me.'

She bit on her lip, contemplating. She seemed shy, so he gave her an encouraging smile.

'You know you can tell me anything, right?'

She looked at their joined hands, at his thumb drafting small semicircles over her palm as Jess tried to suppress his restlessness. He wanted to coax her into sharing, not freak her out.

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

'Take your shirt off,' she said timidly.

'My...shirt?'

She nodded.

He frowned a little but stood up and pulled his tee off, crumpling it into a ball between his hands. She could see the vein on his neck jumping with increasing anxiety. She looked a little nervous too. He sat at the arm of the couch and rose a hand to cup her cheek, his eyes concerned and affectionate. He gave her an encouraging nod.

She took a deep breath and huffed it out in an attempt to brace herself.

'Your jeans too,' she said on an exhale, as if she would cave out if she didn't get it out right now.

A muscle in Jess' jaw tensed but he kept his mouth clamped shut and stood up stiffly, taking his jeans off. He stood in his socks and briefs, watching as she put her book to the side and rose from the armchair so that they were facing each other.

'I...'

She made a step closer so that their breaths collided on each exhale.

'I wanna spank you.'

They stood facing each other for a long moment before Rory burst into loud laughter.

'God, you should've seen your face... the look on it... priceless...I can't... I can't breathe... Your look... priceless...'

She continued laughing, loud and clear, snorting every now and then.

Jess watched her - at first completely flustered, and then after recovering from the initial shock - moving to sit down on the couch, rubbing his face with both palms.

'Jeez,' he shook his head, a dry chuckle making it out of his raspy throat.

So, payback was a bitch. She'd said she would get back at him for making fun of her, right?J

Jeez indeed.

Rory moved to stand between his knees and then sat straddling him, her chest still trembling with bouts of laughter.

She caught his face between her palms and tilted his head up so that he was facing her. Her thumbs were caressing his cheeks and her smile was so big it took up the better half of her face.

Jess' eyes shifted with emotion.

'You got me for a moment here,' he admitted.

'That's for ever doubting my power to forgive your stupid stunts,' she whispered, her eyes shining with reprimanding mischief as her thumbs kept on caressing his cheekbones with overwhelming tenderness.

'I love you, you psyched boy,' she said as she lowered herself to engage his mouth in an affectionate kiss.

How had he ever imagined he could live without this woman? He had been such a stupid schmuck. No one else compared to her. No one could. Ever.

'Siren,' he mumbled against her mouth.

'What?'

'You have the name of a siren,' he sighed against her throat. My siren. 'Wherever you go, I'll always end up following.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	15. Every Corner Of You

_Disclaimer : Still nothing's mine._

* * *

'I missed that.'

Jess turned back, eyebrows arched slightly.

'Me shaving?'

Rory was standing in the bathroom doorway, her eyes intent on him, like trying to memorize every word in a favorite book.

'The details no one else witnesses about you. There's something exclusive about those.'

She leaned a shoulder against the bathroom door frame, arms folded before her chest.

'Sometimes I'm going all territorial about you,' she said with a small smile.

'You are?'

'In my head. It's like I can't get enough. Like I wanna explore every corner of you, both physically and emotionally. Gets a little scary sometimes.'

'Why so?'

'In some way, I get so immersed in loving you, I know I will never get over you, at least not completely.'

Jess let the hand holding the razor rest by his side and walked to where she was standing. He lifted his free hand and moved a strand of her hair back, his knuckles brushing her cheek.

'I wanted to do this for you,' Rory said, her look directed at the razor shave by his side. 'When we got back from the hospital and you closed the door to that room,' she tilted her chin to the room behind her, the room he'd used as 'his' after the shooting. He had needed the distance, some borders to keep him space to recuperate. 'I wanted to feel close to you, I wished you'd let me touch you without pulling your guard.'

Their eyes met and the remembrance stirred both their faces, like a wave of sadness passing through, looming for a while before finally moving along and vacating the once hurtful space.

Jess kept Rory's look as he bit a lip and made a few steps back to take a seat on the stool next to the sink. He sat with his legs apart, bent in the knees, facing her. His lips moved with the barest of smiles as he lifted his hand, holding the razor shave out for her. Rory felt her feet move on their own accord, his gravity beckoning her.

She stopped as she stood between his legs. One arm reached to stroke the hair above his right ear, the other pausing to palm the side of his face. Her fingers touched the stubble that grazed his jaw, tracing it lightly while her eyes stayed locked with his.

She reached over his shoulder for the shaving foam and applied some against his cheeks and jaw, her touch resembling a caress, gentle and reverent. As she moved the safety razor along his skin, he willed himself to keep his eyes on hers. He let her finish and then wipe his face clean with a wet towel. She stood, admiring her work with a look of pure awe. Or maybe she wasn't admiring her work. Maybe she was admiring him. Every single corner of him. His hands slid up her calves to the back of her thighs and drew her closer so that they stood chest to chest. Jess craned his neck up, feeling her breath come out in a huff as she sighed with relief.

'Please don't get over me,' he whispered, his lips moving against hers. 'I wanna move back in. In this apartment. With you. Will you let me move back in?'

She caught his face between her palms and nodded, letting out a breath between a sob and a laugh.

'Yes. Yes, yes, yes.'

* * *

'You should show off more neck. You got nice shoulders. And your clavicle...'

'My clavicle?.' Paris arched an eyebrow.

Tristan gave her another analytical glance and then shrugged.

'It's classy. Makes your neck look...' he licked a lip and then shook his head, leaning both elbows against one crutch, keeping his left foot bent in the knee. 'Nice.'

He was going to say something else. Something cheesy or flirty or at least more praising than 'nice'. She just knew it. He was, but he caught himself at the last moment, backpedaling so his description of her upper torso sounded more impersonal. Why? Tristan wasn't behaving like himself after the accident. But, truth be told, neither was she.

Paris had to admit, she had done the unthinkable. She, Paris Geller, queen of punctuality and time well spent on actual hard work, had taken Tristan Dugray to the mall under the pretext that she needed to get some new clothes. She needed new clothes no more than he needed a new crochet hook set. She was of course simply trying to get him out of his funk. And truth be told, the pretext didn't really matter. Tristan had simply climbed up in the car, letting her drive him to the mall into his own Audi he hadn't been able to drive since the accident. It had been a week after his discharge from _St Benedict_ 's and he still hadn't gone outside. Tristan Dugray was a very physical guy and that was a well-known fact. The thing was, now that his walking had been impaired by a heavy cast and two crutches, he was the grumpiest of grumps. Who would've imagined his potential for staying in and doing nothing but watching _Netflix_ for sixteen hours a day? Paris simply had to take him out and due to the heavy snowfall last night the streets weren't the best place in his condition. So... yeah. The mall it was.

'What are doing tomorrow?' Tristan asked, limping to the nearby sofa where his other crutch was propped. As soon as he took the seat he took his mobile out, pretending to immerse in its contents with a low scowl under his brows.

'Why?' Paris showed her head from behind the curtain of the changing room opposite the sofa.

Tristan continued scrolling over his phone's screen, the sulky expression never leaving his face.

'Just asking. Maybe we could order in and get the boys to watch _Free Birds_ or something.'

Tristan Dugray wasn't used to feeling bad. It was such a simple and logical revelation, yet no one had ever particularly thought of it. Men were such whiny bad-tempered babies when they were feeling sick and Tristan Dugray was no exception. He had absolutely no idea what to do with himself when he couldn't take the physical energy out and keep his usual routine. Heck, his daily routine normally included two hours of workout, sometimes more. He was two weeks back on any kind of non-limping physical activity, including no funny business whatsoever. Two weeks. And probably some three or four weeks more. Training abstinence and celibacy had managed to turn him into an impressively itchy-bitchy pile of male indignation. Gone was the easy-charm, laid-back flirt. Meet moody bitchy grump, a Dugray even more juvenile than his usual outrageous self. It was so unexpected, it could be hilarious wasn't it completely unnerving.

'You could simply ask us over, you know,' Paris' voice carried from behind the curtain. 'For Thanksgiving.'

'Yeah, whatever.'

The curtain made a sudden screeching noise and Paris' head popped back out.

'Have you ever had anyone take care of you?' she asked in a clipped, business-like tone.

'What?' Tristan looked up from his phone.

'You have never had someone help you, watch out for you,' Paris answered her own question in typical no nonsence Paris fashion. 'You realize I've been stuck in a changing room trying outfits I basically despise only so that you can rub your ass against a sofa that's not the one opposite your plasma in your living room, right?'

Tristan blinked.

'I suggest you stop being an ass and start showing some damn appreciation,' she said, closing the curtain with another loud screech.

Tristan opened his mouth and closed it, suppressing the urge to say ' _Yes madam_ '.

Hot damn.

Paris Geller could make the top of Hottest Principal In High-School History charts. That was, in case she was a High School Principal. Every male in a ten mile radius would be dreaming of spending some quality time in her office.

Okay, wrong train of thought. He had promised himself he wouldn't go there. Paris Geller was off limits. Since when, his grumpy inner voice asked. Since she saved your life, asshole. Now, let's revise. Paris Geller equals off limits equals no warm fuzzies, no feeling hands or whatsoever. Got it?

'I'm done with this stupid charade,' Paris' voice came, sounding exasperated. 'I'm not trying on any more clothes for your ungrateful sake. Come help me get out of this, the zipper is stuck. And think of some nice flattering compliment on your limp here.'

Tristan suppressed a smirk and grabbed the crutches, limping to the changing room curtain that opened with yet another screech, revealing a halter dress clad Paris.

'Holy Moly,' Tristan uttered as he caught her reflection in the changing room mirror.

'What?' Paris asked, looking at her reflection too. There was a short moment where she watched him watch her but it was just a second and it was over in a blink.

'Is it that bad?'

He had averted his eyes, studying her zipper.

'No... not that bad.'

He got the stuck zipper free and left. That was strange. He was Tristan Dugray. Normally he would've made a production out of helping a woman out of her dress. However, today he was all business - eye the stuck zipper, free said zipper, get out of the changing room without as much as a look.

Paris narrowed her eyes and suppressed the anger that rose within her. She felt an odd disappointment that he was making a special effort to neglect her. Interesting how this was gonna work for him.

* * *

On the drive back she caught him staring again.

'What now?'

'You're angry,' he said pensively.

Paris turned to give him a look. Really, Dugray. You're the acclaimed master of one-night stands charming women's panties off everywhere you turn, but you're suddenly the dorkiest of dorks when it comes to communication with a normal red-blooded female? Only, she hardly classified as normal... But she was red-blooded. And whatever.

He looked thoughtful. At least after they left the mall he cut on pretending to be invested into his social profile holding onto his mobile like a lifeline. It was all make pretend, she knew, a distraction - like so many other things about him. An year into spending time around him almost every day, and Tristan Dugray was still a mystery.

'Matt asked me out,' Paris blurted.

Tristan's brows knit in thought for a second, then recognition showed in his eyes.

'Henderson? Yeah, I thought he would.'

'What?'

'The way he looked at you, it was quite obvious.'

'Well, he did.'

He did ask me out. Why am I acting so surprised?

'You should go.'

She was lucky they had just pulled up to a stoplight. Otherwise she might've pushed the brakes a tad too abruptly.

She turned to give Tristan an incredulous look.

'What?'

'He likes you, you should go.'

'You think I should go out on a date with Matt Henderson,' Paris repeated, as if proof-reading the words.

'Why not?'

Yeah. Paris. Why not? Oh jeepers.

Are you kidding me, Dugray? Why not? Hilarious. Or not. It felt more like a punch in the gut. Like witnessing the death of a canary. Oh hell with melodrama.

'You're right,' she sighed. 'It's time I got laid and stopped imposing on you anyway,' she rested back in the driving eat with both hands holding firm onto the steering wheel.

From the corner of her eye she watched Tristan closely for a reaction. Nothing. No cringing, no bracing himself, no angry imploding. He was really telling her to go find a nice lay. Damn it, Dugray.

The traffic light turned green and she steered towards his apartment building, letting disappointment wash over her and roll off her shoulders. They didn't have to fall into the cliche.

'And you should cut on playing broody,' she sighed, 'it's unbecoming. Can you summon your pretty boy charm back so we could talk like our normal selves again?'

She took a turn and pulled into his street.

'Okay.'

'Okay?'

She killed the engine as they reached the underground parking of his apartment building.

Tristan was watching her from the passenger's seat, his head tilted to the side.

'Okay.' Then he opened the door and limped towards the backseat where his crutches were lying.

'Your keys,' she got out of the car too.

'Keep them,' he nodded towards the keys. 'Use the car, I won't be able to drive for at least another month anyway.'

Paris gave him a stern look from across the Audi's hood.

'Why are you giving me that look?' Tristan asked.

'What look?'

'Like you're trying to figure me out.'

'Because I _am_ trying to figure you out,' she crossed her arms before her chest.

The glint was back in his look.

'And how is it going so far?'

There was a trace of amusement in his voice. At least he was keeping his part of the deal, going for his usual laid-back self.

'I'm hitting a dead end. Or I don't like the answer. I'm not sure which one it is yet.'

He smiled. The first real smile after he was discharged from _St Benedict_ 's.

'If you have any progress, do let me know. Night, Paris.'

He gave her a humorous salute, leaning one elbow over the crutch and touching two fingers to his temple. Then he took firm hold of both crutches and limped away towards the elevator, followed by Paris' look.

Something told her figuring him out would be a hard task to tackle. However, she'd never been one for jumping a low hurdle. Bring it on, Dugray.

Back from the car, her mobile chimed with a message. She got in and sat on the passenger's seat, unlocking the screen of her mobile.

 _Hey. I'm gonna be over to New York for a couple of days. What are you and Josh doing for Thanksgiving?_

 _Doyle._

* * *

 **TBC**


	16. High Maintenance

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: A very colorful and interesting chapter to write. I'm very curious to know your thoughts.**

* * *

'Will you limp over here and bring me the gravy?' Paris turned towards Tristan who was stirring a pan with chicken broth at the stove. She bent to check the oven, poking the turkey with a fork.

'I need another minute here,' he said, bringing a wooden spoon to his mouth to taste the broth.

'Don't you dare or you'll have to disinfect it,' Paris said with her back to him.

Tristan smirked and tasted the spoon's content with the tip of his tongue.

'I saw that.'

'So Josh is right about the eyes on your back thing,' Tristan grinned.

'I tell him bedtime stories about my eyes on back transplant,' Paris didn't miss a beat. 'Mothers can smell intention.'

Her phone chimed. Then chimed again.

Paris cast a look towards the screen and let out a huff.

'Matt insists we meet this week. I'm not even sure I wanna go out with him.'

She threw Tristan a sideways glance. He seemed preoccupied with stirring the broth.

'Are we gonna follow the rom com scenario?' She narrowed her eyes. 'Is it gonna take pushing me into another man's hands for you to realize that you're jealous out of your mind and go all possessive caveman on me?'

Tristan stopped stirring, his brows arched in what looked like surprised amusement. Paris Geller surely was sporting some interesting fantasies about being manhandled. Maybe it went with strong self-made women - a need to let control go every now and then. Mind - meet gutter. Gutter, Tristan Dugray's mind. _Anyway_ , Tristan shook his head in order to get his mind back on track.

She was right, he thought, feeling a smile creep up his own lips. They had fallen into the cliche. But she was wrong about something. He did want her. Once he found himself hung up on her, he didn't know how to not be. He wasn't sure if he wanted her in his life in general or in his bed in particular. And how much the fact that the love of her life still always lingered at the back of her thoughts bugged him. Maybe he loved her like a friend. Or a family member. Maybe. But he didn't have any other female friends. And he didn't keep tight with his family. He might be falling for Paris Geller. Or maybe he wasn't. He was determined to find out.

He wanted to find out what she felt like when she wasn't shoved to the side and bypassed. He wanted to have her when she felt beautiful and at the peak of her glory. He had watched her pick up the pieces if her life and stitch them back together, and like anything else she did, it was turning into a masterpiece. He didn't need her to feel scared and lonely in order to be able to save her. She was loud and astounding. She was harsh and honest and unapologetically thorough in her love. She was a revelation that left a mark. And he wanted to witness all of her rise. But in doing so he hoped he wasn't gonna cause her to fall, either. She was looking for someone to fill a void, and he wasn't gonna pretend to be that man unless he fit the place.

Paris studied Tristan's expression.

His look had turned thoughtful. And maybe a little sad. She couldn't miss it. The bittersweet smile. The downcast eyes.

'I don't do caveman, Paris,' he sighed and wetted a lip.

Well, she didn't do Barbie either, but who knew. Lately, it seemed like 'stupid yet charming' had become her type so, yeah. Anything was possible.

'Do you think you're lazy?' she asked briskly, trying to hide her apprehension. 'Because I'm too much to handle. You know, the she's interesting but too overbearing for me to keep up with so bam! - I'm no longer intrested thing. Is it that?.' She opened her hand and wiggled her fingers in a vague fist bump explosion recreation.

'Or am I too good for you?' she asked almost instantly, with what looked like scientific enthusiasm. 'It's a pretty valid option.'

A smirk twitched at the corner of Tristan's mouth.

'I just don't wanna walk into something I'm not sure about, Paris.' he said honestly. 'I decided I'd wait till I figure it out.'

'Lazy it is then,' Paris muttered to herself, pain evident behind her irritation. She turned to leave the kitchen, needing some space to vent. It was narrow enough in here even without Dugray's six feet frame and his crutches propped against the refrigerator.

Tristan caught her arm. When she turned back, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

'Look,' he sighed, 'we have become the epitome of _complicated_.'

It's complicated. It was the phrase someone used when they didn't want to be in a relationship with someone but enjoyed keeping them around. It was the phrase about someone not being enough.

Paris huffed.

'Then simplify it. Either you want to be with me or you don't.'

'I want to be with you, Paris,' he said, his voice ridged. 'I just don't know which way.'

'Yeah,' he licked a lip, trying to swallow the disappointment in stride. She looked to the side, hating the honest confusion on Tristan's face. 'So, yeah - lazy.'

'Just... try and listen to me okay?' he said, exasperation imminent in his voice. 'As cliche as it is, you're my best friend. Thing is, I also wanna get naked with you.'

'You... do?' she asked with hopeful disbelief.

'Of course I do,' he looked up at the ceiling, seeming a lot like he was gonna start pulling out his hair any second now. It was strange. And kind of funny. He was normally such a laid-back guy. But arguing semantics with Paris Geller did that to a person. They became a writhing mess.

'I'd very much like to get naked and find myself in various stages of orgasmic bliss with you, Paris Geller, in all horizontal and vertical positions known to man. Damn, the possibilities are so many my mind might implode. Yet...' he took a steadying breath and rose a forefinger, as if to keep himself from getting carried away. 'What do we do after we explore the attraction? Do we get back to being best friends, or do we become best friends with benefits? And is it gonna be benefits on a regular basis or... accidental non-exclusive benefits? The thing is, after I picture the fun part - and believe me, I am picturing it, a lot - everything that follows after that is... blank. Nil. Nada. Tutto finito. Like the end of a holiday. Or a friendship. Please tell me you get what I'm talking about.'

'I get it,' Paris shrugged with a newfound nonchalance. 'You just told me, in a humongous number of words, that you're lazy. And I understand - I do - it's crazy, right? Because we're so different - if we were parts of a dog I'd be the fangs and you'd be the saliva, but think about it this way - in the end of the day you need both for proper digestion, so maybe they found a way to work together.'

'Jesus Christ,' Tristan groaned. 'I want you in my life, Paris. Like, I want you in my life, period. Indefinitely. I wanna be able to bicker with you when we're eighty and my magnificent smile is graced by dental prosthesis. I'm aware how rare it is to find someone like you and that's the exact reason why I don't wanna blow this thing between us... are you listening to me?' he asked disbelievingly as he tilted his head so that he met her eyes. She had started to apply fresh lipstick on her lips, using the reflective surface of her mobile as a makeshift mirror.

'And in case you're wondering if I realize you're too good for me, because even though you're some hard work you're worth every minute of it, I do. I realize. And just for the record, if I had to be part of a muzzle, I'd be the tongue. Because, you know.'

'Okay,' she stood up from her slightly bent position over the phone, closing the cap of her lipstick and making a popping sound with her lips.

'O...kay?' he asked in disbelief.

'Yeah. You obviously put some extra thought about this, muzzle-wise and all, dare I say even more hard thought than a dumb kid trying to solve a Sudoku. So I accept your decision.'

'You... do?' he asked, unconsciously repeating her question from earlier.

'What did you think, that I would beg you to do me right now against that kitchen counter, minutes before the guests have arrived, only to prove you wrong?' she asked, effectively making him choke on a breath. Great. Blue balls would always make themselves welcome when Paris Geller was concerned, so he must've gotten used to that. Yeah, why still pay attention?

His eyes caught sight of the kitchen counter.

Blue balls it was.

'Let's finish this turkey, Dugray,' she gave him a sly wink and bent to probe the oven's contents with a fork, images of kitchen counter explorations revving his mind.

* * *

'Just one more,' Jess leaned an arm above Rory's head, effectively blocking her exit from the elevator.

'Jess, we're already late as it is,' Rory whispered with half-hearted reprimand as he leaned into her.

'I don't really care,' Jess mumbled against her mouth, engaging her in another kiss.

He could be very convincing when he wanted to.

'Paris... Mmm, do this again,' Rory mumbled, tugging on the lapels of his coat with one hand while putting the other against his chest. 'Paris needs us,' she sighed absently, turning her head to the side to grant him access to her throat.

'I need you,' he said against her clavicle, emphasizing the 'I'.

'Doyle's gonna be there... God, Jess... Paris is waiting.'

'She's got Dugray, they're gonna manage,' Jess answered, using his left hand to slide down Rory's side and take hold of her thigh, lifting it to hook around his waist.

At that moment the doors of the elevator slid open and a loud gasp made Rory freeze while Jess dropped his forehead against her shoulder, both holding their breath. She could feel him shake with a suppressed laugh.

An elderly couple was standing before the open elevator doors, the woman moving her head from side to side with indignation.

'Come on, Jackson,' she told her husband, 'We'll use the stairs. Today's young are so...' she cast a disdainful look towards the elevator, '... inappropriate.'

Both Jess and Rory waited for a couple of seconds until the sliding doors closed again, before bursting into unbridled laughter. Rory swatted Jess' shoulder.

He looked up, his face split by a huge grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

'You...' Rory narrowed her eyes with the conscious intention to reprimand him, but ended up open mouthed. She then smiled tenderly, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. 'I love you.'

As they entered Paris' apartment a couple of minutes later, _Sam Cooke_ 's CD was playing from Paris' stereo, the tunes carrying from the living room. It was easy to imagine the music choice was a product of a heated discussion where Tristan was trying to convince Paris that a song was meant to have lyrics and Paris replied that his constant need for fluff was obnoxious and he had to look up the definition of the word music because he was surely the victim of some serious misconception.

At least they weren't the only ones who were late. There was no sign of Doyle yet, so it was them, Paris and Tristan, as well as Josh and Aiden who were playing some Fast and Furious recreation in the Josh's room.

The doorbell rang. There was a short moment where Rory met Paris' look and they exchanged small nods, as if to say, we've got this, and Paris went to open the door. A minute later, she returned, followed by her ex-husband and a young woman.

'Everyone,' Paris said, 'meet Doyle and his...' she paused briefly, as if the word girlfriend got stuck in her throat, 'Carry.'

The woman sent a flashy smile, waving a hand in that overly girly, cutsy easy-going way popular pretty girls did.

As they would soon learn about her, Doyle's girlfriend was an aspiring actress and had kind of a Marilyn Monroe crush. She was twenty-three, had just got her Acting Degree and had some big dreams about making a career onstage.

'Hey everyone,' Carry said.

Everyone replied with a variation of 'hi', internally debating the obvious. Doyle had found someone who seemed to be the opposite of Paris.

* * *

Josh was ecstatic, wanting to show his father every single toy he got, babbling on and on about all ventures he had been engaged in lately, about learning to play ball at kindergarten and constructing a spaceship with Aiden. A couple of times Rory caught Paris' strained expression as she watched the interaction between father and son.

'You're doing well,' Rory told Paris as she went to help her bring some extra plates from the kitchen. 'You let them keep this,' Rory nodded towards Doyle and Josh who were in the middle of playing tank bombs on the carpet of the living room. 'Josh has a family who loves him. You gave him that.'

'You know how Josh calls me? A fascist. He heard it in a movie and felt it was the right word that summarizes what I am to him.'

'You are his mom, Paris, he's always gonna test you.'

'How come Doyle gets the love and I get the hate?'

'He's gonna pretend he hates you when he can't stand a single day without you. Josh loves you both because that's what happy kids do, they love both their parents and they mouth off to the stricter one, it's like a favorite game he plays, and it goes like this, Get Mom to Lose Her Wit, but that's just how growing up does for him. Every important thing he learns - about life, about who he is, he's learnt from you, Paris.'

Paris was shaking her head with pursed lips.

'We've got this,' Rory gave her a nod.

'Cut the weepy stuff,' Paris huffed, 'give me something badass or I'm gonna lose it right in front of Marilyn there.'

To Paris' dismay, Carry wasn't impossibly easy to hate. She was all rainbows and butterflies and her brain was as deep as cotton candy went, but she was good with children. She easily fit into the 'one of the girls' pattern while talking to Josh and Aiden and both she and Doyle behaved like careless children playing with their teammates while the adults were discussing boring matters over dinner.

'Okay, okay,' Rory started rummaging through her brain for something, 'Oh, I got it. Take this - repeat after me, _'I'm here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubblegum.'_

'Okay, I'm good to go now,' Paris let out a slow breath and they went back into the living room.

* * *

Sam Cooke's _Dreamlovers_ was cheerfully playing on the background while Paris and Doyle's voices rose above the music.

'How come you get to decide whether he can have extra chocolate?'

'It's rich with antioxidants and magnesium.'

He saw her roll her eyes.

'It's just chocolate, Paris.'

'Right. Because afterward, it's just diabetes. But who cares, because it's treated with just insulin.'

'Because being over the top bossy helps.'

'It just might. I have to establish strict rules if I want him to learn the difference between right and wrong.'

'By this point I think he can set his own insulin regimen.'

'Great of you to speak, because spending a couple of weeks with him makes you an expert on children nutrition.'

'I have a certificate for completing a nutritionist's course!'

'And when exactly did that happen?'

'While you were taking another course on endoscopic surgery. The hall next to the Endoscopic Congress was holding a nutritionist's venue. They thought I was a doctor. I didn't object.'

'Well, I completed that course last year, so I have the certificate too.'

'And a birth certificate for being right,' Doyle muttered.

Both of them glared at each other, leaning against opposite ends of the table. They continued the stare-off for a while and then sat back down at the table. Josh was chanting 'fascist' at Paris' side.

A couple of pagers went off. Jess, Rory and Paris pushed their chairs back, exchanging looks.

'And here I am missing the party,' Tristan let out a sigh, looking at his own pager. 'Just a couple of days more until the cast goes off,' he said towards his hands apologetically. He hadn't held a scalpel for weeks. It was unnerving. Once he was in a walking cast, he was getting back into the OR. He couldn't wait to get his hands full.

'What is it, why is everybody leaving?' Carry asked, looking as Jess, Rory and Paris stood up.

'There's been a bus crash,' Tristan explained, 'they're going to the hospital.'

'Oh, just like in Grey's Anatomy!' Carry exclaimed.

Tristan smirked at the naivety if the presumption.

'Yeah. Just like that.'

'He means it's exactly the same, only real people come with their very real arms missing and bleeding to death, and I mean real blood and real death,' Paris said with what was her supposedly creepy voice. 'Unless we save them.' she clipped and started to leave the room. She turned back at the door.

'You've got the boys, right?' she turned towards Tristan.

He nodded. He got the boys.

'Okay. Let the fun begin,' she turned towards Rory and Jess who already had their shoes on and were waiting for her at the front door. 'I got Dugray's keys, we're driving in the Audi.'

As they left, the room went suddenly more quiet.

'Can I have more chocolate now?' Josh asked, turning his hopeful eyes towards his father.

Doyle blinked absently, his look still on Tristan.

'I don't understand,' Carry turned towards Doyle. 'They seemed almost... _excited_ there was a bus crash.'

'Who wants more wine?' Tristan smirked.

About an hour later Carry was putting Josh and Aiden to sleep while Doyle brought the empty dishes into the kitchen where Tristan was washing them in the sink.

'I should've called to say I wasn't coming alone, I know that surprises get her on her bad side,' Doyle said as he left another empty plateau over the pile on the counter. 'It's just... I don't know how to talk to her without getting her to scream like a banshee.'

Tristan let out a low chuckle.

'There's no way, you just let her scream it off and then have some semblance of normal conversation with her.'

'Yeah, normal conversation meaning accepting that she's always right.'

'Well, she is, in most cases.'

'It was so frustrating,' Doyle shook his head in bittersweet remembrance, referring to the years spent with someone who was almost always right. Almost always was an oxymoron. But so was Paris Geller. 'Don't look at me like that. She's high maintenance.'

Doyle paused and licked a lip, catching a defensive glint in Tristan's eyes.

'I'm not saying this as good or bad, I'm just stating a fact. She's high emotional maintenance and at some point I guess... I guess we didn't withstand. You must get it if you know her as well as I think you do.'

If you care about her as much as I think you do.

Doyle had seen one exchange between his ex-wife and that man and it was enough to let him know that Paris had complete trust in Tristan. It had to mean something. Of course it did.

'I get it.'

'I thought so,' Doyle gave a slow nod, and it felt almost as a peace offering.

'She's worth it, though.' Tristan said almost to himself.

'She's worth it,' Doyle repeated, and an invisible pact was sealed.

Doyle didn't leave for California because he no longer loved his wife. He left because he was overwhelmed by all the effort it cost to stay together. And he found someone who didn't push him to try so hard. It wasn't particularly admirable, but it was understandable.

'She still thinks about you a lot,' Tristan said. It was a simple constatation, void of judgement.

'I still think about her too. But I don't think I have the energy to go back there again. It's all or nothing with her. And the all cost me too much of my own self to be able to maintain. Sometimes it's best to admire her from afar.'

Coming from one who got burnt.

* * *

 **TBC**


	17. Into The New Day

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine.  
_

 **A/N: Hey, now there's a tumblr acocunt where you can find visual footage for this story - so YAY ! The blog's title is 'Adverse Events' and its contents are divided in three seasons - I go by the nickname zorokoch , you should be able to find it if you write ' zorokoch ' or ' Adverse Events ' in tumblr's Search field :) That said, I hope you enjoy whatever this story has got to give, also I'm always curious to know your thoughts on anything concerning the story's contents and characters. Thanks for staying tuned :)  
**

* * *

'Got internal bleeding in third!' Paris' voice came from behind one of the ER curtains.

'I'm clamping a torn carotid in fourth so hold it there,' Rory answered from behind the neighboring curtain.

'Shit. Really?'

'Do I look like I'm kidding?'

'Can't see you, can't tell.'

'Well I'm not.'

'Oh. You _are_ clamping a torn carotid.'

'Yep.'

'That sucks, big time.'

'It does.'

A monitor started beeping.

'Okay, that's it, my patient's crashing, I'm calling code blue.'

'We're only five doctors for nearly fifty casualties, we're getting swamped,' Rory groaned. 'We need more people.'

'I called the Chief but he's not picking up. Tell me about swamped.'

'Hey, need help here?'

'Jess, is this your sweet voice? Heaven sends you!' Rory elated as she heard his voice.

He pulled both ER curtains open so that they were able to see one another and both Rory and Paris sighed with relief.

'Actually, Alinski did. Code blue, huh?' Jess asked while changing his disposable surgical coat.

Paris looked up from her patient after checking his pupils.

'Rory's got one with torn carotid, and mine's with internal bleeding, started crashing a minute ago. Chief's not picking his phone and we're stuck with the OR schedule. Come cover my guy until I go and get some semblance of order around the OR. Rory, I'm gonna need you to call your interns.'

'My interns?'

'All of them.'

'But they're still...'

'They're plankton, severely underqualified and aspiringly stupid,' Paris cut in. 'I know that _. But_ we're short of people and anyone who's available will be of use.'

'Okay.'

'Okay. Let them teleport here.'

Paris took out her mobile and tried the Chief again. Nothing. Then dialed again.

'Helen, I need you to check up with all available scrub nurses and arrange teams of two. We've got a bus crash emergency and it's bad. Let them be ready in half an hour, I'm gonna arrange an OR schedule by then.'

Paris had already taken the list of admitted patients in the ER, marking the ones that needed emergency surgery, dividing them by type of trauma and extension of vital organ damage.

As she passed through the ER corridor, more ambulance sirens were approaching, loud and alarming. This was one night from hell.

* * *

'You're such a sweet boy,' the elderly lady's voice came from the stretcher Jess was pushing towards the ER.

About a dozen more casualties had just arrived and Jess was responsible for managing the surge of victims, functioning as makeshift ER triage chief. Paris was downstairs, managing the OR and organizing the most urgent among the surgeries. Rory's interns had arrived about two hours ago, providing some much needed backup. A couple of more colleague surgeons had managed to arrive too, so the situation was slowly getting under control.

'Such a sweet, sweet boy,' she repeated, the smile over her chapped pale lips weak but sincere.

'Oh, I get that all the time,' Jess answered absently, motioning for one of the interns to come over.

The woman was probably suffering temporary victim to savior spur of adoration. Her fingers around Jess' wrist were icy cold. She was the last one the rescue team had found. She had been thrown off the rear window and had spent almost three hours out in the cold, suffering some severe hypothermia.

'What's... what's your name?' she asked while Jess was giving instructions to the intern. She was starting to slur. Jess suppressed a frustrated sigh and took a glucose 5% infusion, starting a drip. If they didn't get her stabilized in the next ten minutes, they were gonna lose her. 'It's Jess Mariano. Doctor Jess Mariano. Kate, I'll need to undress you in order to get warm blankets over you. Okay?'

'I always ima... imagined stripping before a hot young man before I die under... different circumstances,' she managed to get out with a smile.

Jess stopped and gave her a look, giving her his full attention for the first time since he admitted her in the ER minutes ago. The lady's ID said she was seventy-five years old but as he looked at her wrinkled face, he saw the bravery of a former spitfire. She had lived a conscious life, calling challenge in its face.

'I'm gonna die, sweetie. They say...' she paused, closing her eyes and licking her trembling lips, 'They say one can feel these things. They're right.'

'Kate,' Jess leaned down so they were eye-level. 'I'll need you to shut up and let me undress you now,' he said in a low, serious voice.

'As I said, such a sweet boy,' she smiled and closed her eyes.

Jess motioned for the intern to hurry and they undressed her, wrapping warm blankets around her bony body. They attached her to a monitor so that they were able to check with her pulse and saturation.

'Adam, stay with her until I go check the rest of the triage for newcomers,' Jess said, checking Kate's monitor once again.

'Please-' Kate's voice came from the stretcher. 'Jess... will you stay with me? It's not gonna take long.'

Jess stopped and looked at her. Her eyes were shut, because keeping them open probably cost her too much energy. She was pale, turning cyanotic. The intern stood by her side, looking from Jess to the patient and then back at Jess' strained face.

Jess pinched the bridge of his nose and looked to the side, letting out a sigh.

'Adam, go check for newcomers and bring me a list with all admitted in the ER tonight.'

The intern gave a quick nod and left, not risking getting Dr Mariano angry. It was a well-known fact Dr Mariano didn't like to have to repeat himself and in the rare cases the interns were assigned with him they were like high strung dogs ready to sense each pull of the leash.

Jess pulled a chair and sat next to the stretcher.

'Thank you,' she said quietly.

'You know there's been a big crash and many people were hurt, right?' Jess asked grimly.

'Yes.'

 _I was in it_ was left unsaid but it felt like it was out there anyway.

'Someone might be needing me while I'm sitting here,' Jess said.

'Yes.'

'Yet you want me to stay here with you.'

So that you're not alone. So that someone acknowledges that you were here.

'Yes.'

'I'm not typically called sweet. Especially by strangers,' Jess let out a lopsided smile.

Strangers' normal reaction towards him was instant spite. For a good reason, of course.

'I'm more of a brood,' he confessed, winning a dry chuckle from Kate.

She opened her eyes. Her irises had turned a shade of smudged green.

'You're a sweet brood then,' she said.

The monitor started beeping. Her ECG was slowing, her pulse sensor showing thirty beats per minute.

Kate mouthed something but it was incoherent and couldn't get through the sound of the monitor alarms.

* * *

A couple of hours later an early November sun was rising above New York city. Cars and ambulances were pulling in and out of the hospital's parking lot and the morning buzz would soon mark the start of a fresh new day in _St Morrison's_.

Dr Rory Gilmore and Dr Paris Geller were sitting on the sofa of the lockers' room, gathering the strength to change out of their scrubs before a morning rush of doctors invaded the surroundings.

'I thought about your situation with Dugray,' Rory said, suppressing a yawn.

'Or the lack of thereof,' Paris rolled her eyes. Of course her friend would have the time to spare on pondering her love life (or lack of thereof) while saving victims of a mass casualty incident.

'I may have found an explanation for his reluctance to elope.'

'The guy's damn lazy - didn't we already establish that?.'

'Well, he wasn't lazy when you were playing hard to get.'

'Because he was trying to prove a point. Now that he's proven it he lost interest, the lazy bastard.'

Paris let out a huff, eyeing her cup of gone cold coffee with venom.

'You know, sometimes I hate all those stupid pretty girls whose personality can fit into a matchbox.'

'Only sometimes?' Rory's smile was playful but Paris' fervor was real.

Paris shook her head vehemently, making a futile gesture with her hands.

'I'm so terrified of the way they get away with their meek personalities, and how people call such a girl weak when, say, she parades around with someone else's husband, and I'm called mean bitch when I call such a girl on her shit. I'm feeling offended such girls even exist.'

'Oh, whoa. Easy there.'

'And sometimes I even... Damn, I hate myself for even thinking that, but sometimes I even think, why do I need to be that amazing overachieving morally uplifted person when it gets me nowhere anyway and... Damn, I'm so _angry_ , Rory. So damn angry. Why doesn't he want me?'

'The best you can do is be yourself. You can't help that you're epic. You can as well enjoy it.'

'Yes, Sensei Rory.'

'Okay, imagine you're Tristan.'

'What? Why would I do such a perverse thing?'

Rory shook her head with a laugh.

'You are a high-school badboy who got transferred to military school. Then you got into medical school and soon after graduating you went abroad to provide medical service for a refugee camp.'

'Are you gonna cover Dugray's bio or something?'

Rory ignored Paris' comment, seemingly gaining momentum in her thesis, taking a large gulp, finishing her coffee.

'During all that time - from the immature teenager to a grown-up man, when did you ever know what it's like to fall in love and build a relationship?'

'I'm confused, do we or don't we count Dugray's infatuation with himself and his right hand?'

'First of all, yuck, and second - I mean real relationship with an actual woman.'

Paris made a face.

'What about cougary-Claudia Shiffery hotshot Shefield? They were known to be in a relationship.'

'He ever gave you the impression he was in love with her?'

'Well, no.'

'My point exactly. Tristan is almost thirty years old and he's never been in a loving relationship with a woman,' Rory spread her arms in a ta-da gesture. Then took Paris' abandoned coffee and finished it.

'He loved Aiden's mom,' Paris noted.

'I believe he thought he did, but from the skittish bits and pieces I've heard from you, he was more in love with the image of her than with the real person herself. They never managed to interact, never really got to know each other. Their interaction was solely based on doctor-patient bonding growing into something more but never really evolving to its full potential-'

'Hey, hey,' Paris put an hand up, 'where are you getting with this?' she narrowed her eyes skeptically.

'I don't think he's reluctant because he's scared of your big bad brain or by those impressive lady-balls of yours. I think he was honest when he told you he didn't know what comes after the sex part. He never really had anyone he thought about in terms of a relationship.'

Okay. So maybe Dr Phil had a point. With Shefield things were all about hitting it off in the bedroom. Giving and taking physical pleasure, finding comfort in a warm body, a relationship that was self-sufficing and uncomplicated and felt more like a bargain at the time than anything else. With Aida it had been an untold story, countless and countless of what-ifs. He was forever gonna be in love with the one that got away, but he never really tasted what a real relationship with a woman meant. If you never saw something, not even a glimpse, how were you supposed to recognize it?

'You're a couple of steps ahead from him in this,' Rory said. 'All I'm suggesting is, give him some time and see if he gets on the same page.'

Paris went silent. She thought about how much change knowing someone's secrets brought on. Did knowing Tristan's secret change what she knew about him? And could you really know someone without knowing their secrets? How much the way you handled someone's secret spoke about you? Because today she learned something about him he probably didn't realize himself.

'Also, I think Tristan may have a reason to believe he's walking in Doyle's shadow,' Rory added, turning towards Paris.

'Doyle's shadow? Do you realize Doyle is five feet and his shadow should be calculated at sunset somewhere around the pole in order to encompass Tristan's mutant-tall frame?'

'Just something to think about,' Rory shrugged innocently. 'I decided I'm too tired to change. Come on, let's get some sleep,' she poked Paris with a tired smile. 'And, by the way, good job handling crisis management, Dr Geller. You were a blast.'

Rory stood up, grabbed her coat from the hanger and and gave Paris a wink before she left the lockers' room in her scrubs, stifling a yawn.

Paris stood up and went to her locker to change. Ten minutes later she was on her way to the hospital exit. As she walked through the ER corridor, she glanced at the glass windows that separated the exam rooms from the corridor. There were patients of different age - some of them had their heads wrapped in gauze, others had arms and legs covered in cast. Some of them were resting, others were hugging their relatives. They were the survivors, celebrating they got to live.

The complexity of healing. There was beauty in it. It wasn't a beauty easy on the eye. Because one wouldn't look to find peace when looking at bruises. Yet, they were part of getting better, part of surviving long enough to get to live. They meant you got to get better so you got a chance to heal. So they shouldn't be such a bad thing, right? You couldn't separate the good scars from the bad ones. Honestly, scars were never really what you looked for when you sought perfection. The thing is, with scars you got something else - you got completion. And when you took a look at the grand picture it wasn't perfect. But it was beautiful all right.

* * *

'Hey.'

'Hey. How are you?'

'Groggy. What about you?'

Jess gave her an apprehensive look, chewing on the inside of his lips. They were standing in the ambulance parking lot, facing each other. And, honestly? He looked like he was gonna puke any second now.

'Jess...' Rory sobered, worry creeping into her voice. 'What is it?'

He stepped forward and put his palm at the back of her neck, pulling her head in for a hard kiss. As they pulled apart, Rory narrowed her eyes.

'Jess, what's going on?'

He was breathing heavily and his bloodshot from lack of sleep eyes were stirred a deep shade of brown.

'Marry me,' he whispered, his stormy eyes intent on hers. 'Life is short and I'm a sweet brood. Marry me, be my wife.'

Rory blinked, trying to proceed what he was saying.

'O-kaay.'

'Okay?'

'I... I mean I will.' She took a breath and tossed her head, shaking off the worry she had felt for a moment. 'Boy, you scared the shit out of me. But yes, I will marry you,' she grinned fully now, the thought finally sinking.

Jess let out a deep sigh, looking genuinely relieved. Then, as he seemingly remembered something, his brow furrowed.

'I don't have a ring.' he uttered and licked a lip. 'Jeez, I'm such a dork.'

Rory studied him with a curious smile.

He looked so clueless, he was obviously more surprised by his proposal than she was.

Rory put both arms around his torso and pressed her cheek into his side.

'You're also a sweet brood. I've heard they're quite the catch these days.'

He pressed his lips into her hair and they started walking.

'I love you,' he mumbled against her hair.

'Ditto. Oh, I just got the funniest revelation.'

'What is?'

'We're gonna have two best men.'

'Huh.'

'Can you imagine? Paris and Tristan, wearing matching ties and plaid suits? I just can't wait until I see their faces when they get the news.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Jess?'

'Yeah?'

'I'm gonna be your wife. Rory Mariano. I think there's a nice ring to it, what do you say?'

'Hell yeah.'

'Come on, smartass, let's go home.'

They continued walking into the new day.

* * *

 ** _'I like the scars because I like the stories. Bravery, stupidity, pain—none of them come free.'_**

 ** _—_** _Jessica Martinez, Virtuosity_

* * *

 **TBC**


	18. The One Who Has Your Back

_Disclaimer : Ah, still nothing's mine. Lyrics used in this chapter belong to Benjamin Francis Leftwich's 'Shine'.  
_

 **A/N: You can find visual backup for Adverse Events on tumblr now :) Look for** zorokoch **or** Adverse Events **, you should be able to find it.**

 ** **A Tristan/Paris chapter.****

 **Contains some non-explicit M for Tristan mouthing off.**

* * *

 _'_ _I'm the one who has got your back_

 _Now turn around and don't be sad'_

* * *

She was wearing the halter top dress she'd bought when she'd dragged him into the mall to get him out of his funk.

'How do I look?'

He busied himself flipping the channels, skipping from one sports channel to another.

'Good.' He cleared his throat and shrugged, his eyes still on the TV. 'You look good.'

'I shouldn't have gone for this dress,' Paris groaned. 'It's too classy. I need to look available. Do I look available?'

'What?'

'I need to look like a chick in a bar, not like my super amazing jaw-dropping self. Do you get it? I need to look like a two dimensional willing lightweight if I'm gonna get laid tonight.'

Tristan turned his head and gave her a look.

'Put your hair down.'

'What?'

'Wear it down, it's gonna look less sophisticated and more inviting. You know, the _I'm smoking hot and like to have a good time_ vibe.'

She stopped taking hair pins off and gave him a look, her eyes hard on him. At some point he fidgeted uncomfortably under her long stare down.

'What?'

She regarded him silently for another minute, then shook her head and gave him a brief smile.

'Nothing. Sorry.'

He had been, was being serious. Tristan Dugray was giving her honest advice how to get laid. He was enabling her going out with another man and making the most of it in terms of a hot date. Tristan Dugray was either sick and twisted out of his mind, OR he was really telling her the truth when he said he wanted her to have what she needed and she deserved to start dating again. She was free to date - any guy she wanted. Only not him. That's why he was willing to stay with Josh and Aiden while she was out with Matt Henderson. Because she was free to move on. Only not with him.

Tristan narrowed his eyes. By now, he had learned to read her.

'You don't want a one-night stand with me, Paris.'

'Was it gonna be so bad?' she asked, her eyes sad, mouth a little pouty.

'For once, you'll have to believe my moral compass,' Tristan shrugged with a sour smile.

Paris chuckled dryly.

'Riiight.'

Tristan let out a slow sigh, raking a hand through his hair. He licked a lip, inwardly debating if he wanted to get into this particular conversation. Hell no. But they were already in deep. There was no getting out dry from the water so be it.

'Imagine a chick with a flimsy dress. Imagine my Audi stopping in front of her apartment building to pick her up. I drive somewhere out of the city, somewhere with a view but secluded enough so nobody would come around. I can't take her home because Aiden is there doing homework. So I stop the car, pull the handbrake and we say a couple of sentences, mundane stuff like what was your day like and are you hungry because I could've dropped by a daily. She says nah - she's okay, had a bite during lunch break. And then I lean in and kiss her. It's just probing, tasting if she's as sweet as I think, as I hope she is. It's meant to cease the meaningless conversation, to search for something more exciting than what we've been doing so far. Soon I'm full tongue in her mouth, because we both know why we're in my car on a secluded hill.'

Paris folded her arms before her chest.

'Is this your sick variation of phone sex?'

Tristan let the slightest smile graze his lips but ignored her comment.

'She climbs into my lap and before you say debauchery she's onto my zipper and next thing I know she's sucking me off. Soon she's back into my lap and I'm fucking her into oblivion. It's quick and probably a little clumsy due to the fact that we don't really know each other and have no idea what each of us actually likes. It's just a stolen moment and we try to make the most of it. And it means absolutely nothing. After we're finished, I drive her back with the promise that we should meet again some time, maybe have a drink, both of us knowing we won't because we're not gonna surpass the awkwardness factor. Irony is, maybe we could make small talk and have a good enough time having drinks. We will never know. Eager to end the awkward silence, she gets off my car, adjusting her dress as climbs the stairs to her apartment where she's gonna watch some chick flick with her roommate, discussing the size of my dick or whatever, and I'm driving back to my son.'

Tristan rubbed his palms against his face warily.

'You don't wanna feel the way that nameless chick does. I don't wanna be the guy who makes you feel that way.'

His look was somewhere between condescending and pleading. _Please tell me you understand._

'Only I'm not a nameless chick,' Paris said lifting her chin, her eyes set on his without as much as a flinch. 'I'm Paris Geller, the woman who saved your leg and who is gonna blow your mind. We would bicker and joke and then bicker some more, and then recreate some pleasurable rubbing of epidermis. I could pull off walking around in nothing but one of your ridiculous cartoon character T-shirts and let you make me triple espresso for breakfast. However, if you're done negotiating not hitting the sack with me, I'm gonna go and try to find someone who's not finding the idea so terrifying.'

'Don't,' Tristan said exasperatedly. She looked up, her eyes hopeful.

'Don't be bitter. Don't turn this into something it isn't.'

 _Don't make it chase and catch. Because I'm not gonna chase._

'This isn't about me,' he insisted, plea evident in his voice.

 _Please understand why I'm doing this._

She made a few steps so that she was standing right before him, her eyes meeting him square.

'I'll wish he was you,' she said quietly, aiming at him, a merciless shooter sniping. By the way his face strained, she knew she had scored. 'Bye, Tristan.'

She walked out, the click-clack of her heels dying out as she entered the elevator.

Sometimes nothing went according to plan. And sometimes you didn't have a clue as to what the plan should be. Sometimes you just had nothing figured out.

Tristan Dugray had long-established habits. And he hadn't felt bad about the way he handled this particular side of his life. That was, until recently. Because recently, he had everything upside down, and he was losing most of his answers. He had never regretted welcoming open opportunities and then moving on with his life. But tonight he was doing his best to keep something from breaking and felt like he kept failing. He was trying to set borders, shelter what he wanted to keep safe. But she, being herself, kept stomping all over his stipulations. Didn't she see why they were a bad idea? Her with him hitting it off was such a short expiry date story. Damn, why was she so stubborn and refused to see the obvious? She was looking to prove a point and she was getting cruel in doing so. Sometimes you had everything figured out only to find out you didn't know a fucking thing.

* * *

'Don't do this again,' he said in uncharacteristically somber voice as she entered the living room hours later. It was still dark outside, an early winter morning in New York.

At the sound of his voice, Paris paused at the doorway, seemingly surprised he was up at this hour. She blinked in the semi-darkness to make his outline. He was sitting on the sofa where she'd left him hours earlier. She put the heels she'd been carrying in her hand down on the floor.

'What?'

'Hurting me on purpose. Don't do it.'

He had stayed up, waiting. A small part of her elated at the thought that dark jealousy had been tearing him apart. Another part of her had the decency to feel ashamed of the way she had treated him earlier, like he was some kind of asshat who had violated their relationship or something. Damn, she had treated him as if he were cheating on her or something. If anyone was being aggressive, it was her, not him. But she was like this, she attacked when she felt a threat.

Don't hurt me on purpose. _Just don't act bitchy and we'll be okay._ He had said that about two years ago, when they had their first full blown fight. He had this one request and she stomped all over it. But hell with caution, she wanted him to tell her why she wasn't enough, why he kept turning away from her.

'Well,' she folded her arms before her chest defiantly, 'you're accidentally doing it all the time by not reciprocating the amount of care. It's pretty hurtful too.'

He shook his head with a mirthless smile.

'You don't think I don't care about you, you just want to get things your way.'

'Maybe I do, so what?'

'So...' he made a gesture with his hand 'So, plenty.'

'What does it matter to you anyway?'

'You can't be serious.'

She kept his look, her eyes bright with a stubborn glint. Why aren't you jealous? How can you not be? You were at home taking care of my son while I spent the night with another man, would it kill you to be at least a bit jealous?

'You're unbelievable,' he rose a finger and then rubbed his jaw, shaking his head. 'Fucking unbelievable.'

'You're so afraid of getting close to something real, you're stuck in a stance and won't move in fear you might hurt someone or get hurt. Well guess what Dugray, life is hurtful and unfair so you better man up and get this pretty boy's heart to toughen.'

'Stop pushing me.'

'Well that's what I do, Tristan, I push people. You're either in or you're out, you have to choose.'

Why are your plain bimbos granted your male attention and I am the designated best friend? Why? Why won't you choose me?

'I have chosen, you just don't like the repercussions of it.'

'Bullshit.'

'I mean it, Paris - enough.'

'Tell me you don't feel anything beyond brotherly love to me and I'll leave you alone. Look me in the eye and tell me all you see is a friend.'

'I said, THAT'S ENOUGH!' he rose his voice, cracking at the end. It came out so worn out and desperate, Paris was left open-mouthed. He had forgotten he had to whisper, risking waking up the boys, he looked disheveled and underslept. And honest. He looked absolutely honest. She had driven him into a state of losing control. But he was still not bleeding out truths she had anticipated.

He did mean it. All of it. He wasn't stalling until he figured out what he wanted. He knew what he wanted and it just wasn't a relationship. He also meant it when he said she should stop pushing him. He might be easy-going all right, but he wasn't gonna be pushed around. Not by her, not by anyone. She still remembered the look in Beatrice Shefield's eyes as she walked away after Jess' surgery. It was the look of a woman who'd overstepped a line and couldn't cross it back once she found herself on the other side. Shefield had tried to push Tristan too hard and she had lost him, irrevocably. He wasn't letting her back in.

Tristan ran both hands through his hair and paced, his limp still lingering after taking the first cast off and replacing it for a removable boot cast a couple of days ago. He was doing lots of physiotherapy but it obviously still hurt to move around. He looked like a caged animal, trying to find space to breathe. He went towards the balcony door and went out on the balcony, shaking his head while muttering a couple of expletives. He looked... flustered. And angry. Paris wasn't the only one who was surprised by his outburst.

She was left alone in the living room, the place suddenly feeling impossibly quiet.

Okay, so she could be infuriating when she stomped her foot on it. So what? Paris sent a look towards the balcony. Oh, jeepers.

'Fine,' she mumbled as she stood beside him looking ahead at he city that was slowly waking from its slumber. There was no sun. Only clouds and the lifting dusk.

'I might have been out of line.'

He turned to give her a stern look.

'Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?' he asked.

She looked up at him, her breath hitching. The tone of his voice, the emotion that stood behind it, they were so familiar. They had been there in Doyle's eyes when said stubbornness had ended her marriage. When she had pushed him too hard, she had pushed him out effectively. Because, like anything else, when pushed to their limit, people gave, they broke.

Paris opened her mouth and then closed it, waiting for the feeling of the air being knocked out of her lungs to subside.

Paris Geller was generally content with who she was. Or, more exactly, the total sum of who she was. Like paying a high price for something you considered valuable enough. Like trading pleasantries for effectiveness. She was harsh, stubborn and single minded. She was aware of that, mind you. She had her reasons for being like that, had analyzed them over years and years of therapy. But what gave her a reason to still push forward so hard was the belief that being the person she was, she gave her son a stable environment. A world where borders were within reach. She had grown up in a ghost of a family where no one cared to create boundaries for her. Ever since she was a kid, Paris Geller was on an endless quest for limits. She had created an uncountable number of rules and regulations in stride, little cornerstones to help that quest, to guide her and keep her safe. She never wanted for Josh to feel like this, like he was floating anchorless with no one giving the time of day to think about what the future held for him. It wasn't a child's business to draw the line between good and bad, to define black from white. It was what parents were supposed to do for you - draw the line, give you a starting point so that you knew at least where your start began. She had never had that. She had always had to define her own limits, abandoned in a limitless world where no one really cared enough to carry the responsibility for her. She had dug a tunnel out of that blur to create a whole system of black and white, to help her define what was what. So yeah, she was extreme. But that kept her sane. Maybe these times of insecurity were over now. She was thirty years old, a grown up woman, a mother. Maybe she had already managed to define the terms of her own life and could relax for a moment. Maybe that was okay now. But all she ever knew was the fight for drawing lines and letting go of that habit now seemed impossibly overdue.

She let out a sigh. Braced herself.

'Are you gonna let me buy you a coffee?' she asked, her voice unrecognizably timid. The only person who could draw the vulnerability out of her to such a great extent was a former high-school playboy with man-slut tendencies and a heart of gold. She could probably do worse than that. She just couldn't think of any good examples right now.

There was a fact about Paris Geller. She was terrible at saying sorry. She was like that - always pushing forward, never stepping back. And saying sorry was like taking back what you did instead of owning it. She owned her crap, dammit. Dignity had to count for something. Only this wasn't dignity. This was simple disability to say the damn words.

She was so terrified that people would keep wearing out. It was so easy for people to give up on her, to just... quit fighting through her defenses. She so wanted for someone to fight hard enough to stay. She had been so, so desperate for someone to prove to her that she was worth staying for. She had already pushed another man too far. It wasn't fair of her to victimize herself. Tristan had done nothing wrong. He had her back, had it from day one although she had doubted it for so long. And what she had done in return was punish him for not proving to her what she was dead-set on proving. The paradox was, he had. He was doing what was his best version of staying. Nothing had cost him so much effort as making his case about staying friends with her. And he was, he had been fighting for keeping her. He had done it the way he saw it. She had no right hunting him down like that. And playing blame games with him. Especially playing blame games. _Stop hurting me on purpose._ She did hurt him. Of course she did. He cared, had he not said that, numerous times? But she was too busy ranting about other people not fighting for her enough. Tristan had never given up on her. Tristan wasn't Doyle. Doyle had given up. She had made him. But it was time she stopped looking for someone to fill in for Doyle and prove anything on his behalf.

Doing this friendship thing Tristan's way would require compromise. Paris was an all or nothing person. With Tristan, if she agreed to his terms, she would have to settle for a helluva world of in-betweens. But, if anyone deserved that compromise, it was Tristan. He had been solid. He had been a good friend. The best. He deserved to be cut some slack and be fought for in return.

His silence had made her glance up at him apprehensively. She didn't know how long exactly they kept staring at each other, the new realizations settling in.

'I'm gonna go with slurpee, thank you.'

She didn't know why she felt like grinning. She assigned it to the relief of being let off the hook. And Tristan's own mirroring grin.

She looked ahead at the skyscraper rooftops. The sun was rising.

* * *

 _'I hope you find the love that's true_  
 _So the morning light can shine on you_  
 _I hope you find what you're looking for_  
 _So your heart is warm forever more'_

* * *

 **TBC**


	19. Law Of The Series

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Time to shake this story up a little. Ready for another ride? Here it is. Oh, and also - r** ** **eviews matter :)They help me see what I can do better when writing this story :) Happy reading!  
****

* * *

'Don't answer,' Rory stirred against Jess' side, sleepily rubbing her nose in the crook of his neck.

His mobile continued beeping over the nightstand. Jess leaned up on an elbow and reached for his phone.

'It's from the hospital,' he said in sleep-gravelly voice.

'You're not on call tonight though, right?' Rory leaned up on both elbows, squinting against the light of the mobile's screen.

'Hello,' he sighed into the phone, rubbing his eyelids.

Rory's pager went off.

'Yeah,' Jess said and both sat up into the bed, exchanging knowing looks. 'We'll be there.'

* * *

There had been a snowstorm. It had broken an electrical pole off. There had been a short circuit. Then fire. The fire had caused a mini gas explosion. The gas explosion had caused serious damage in a couple of floors in an apartment building. There had been dozens of residents in the apartment building during the time of the explosion. A chain reaction of mishaps.

There was this term in medicine, the law of the series. Every practicing physician came across it at some point. It probably used to sound illogical and made up when one was a medical student. But as you started working, you found it did happen. And after you came across it in person, you never underestimated the power of seriality.

Two mass casualty incidents in one week could happen. They just rarely did. But when they did happen, they happened serially. There was always the weather to blame, of course. Your horoscope. Someone's period. Murphy's law. The retrograde Mercury. And life being... you know, life.

Fellow surgeons and anesthesiologists from St Morrison's Surgery Department. A number of scrub nurses and medical assistants. Most members of St Morrison's Surgical staff were sitting in St Morrison's conference hall, exchanging looks. There were forty-six of them. They had been paged to gather into the conference hall as soon as they arrived at the hospital, so some of them were still in their civilian clothes. Others had interrupted a shift or had thrown their scrubs on before getting into the car to get there. The large hall was unusually quiet. The silence of an intelligent audience awaiting a piece of bad news.

Dr Peterson entered the room and, if possible, the hall became even more quiet. As if the whole place sucked in a breath, all noise died, anticipating.

'Thank you everyone for being here tonight. As you already know, we have emergency situation again and everybody's efforts are highly appreciated. The reason you were asked to gather here is because I've been asked to make an announcement. As you have noticed, Chief Robertson has been missing for a couple of days. Maybe some of you guessed he has health issues and they would be right. Three days ago, Chief Robertson had a stroke and is currently recovering in St Frederick's Neurology Department. Today, he officially informed the board of Directors that he will be retiring as Chief of Surgery, effective immediately.'

There was an unsettled buzz throughout the room but heads were still turned towards Peterson expectantly.

'Starting today, the Board will accept applications for new Chief in the next seven days. Meanwhile, Chief Robertson has asked me to step in as temporary Chief. I count on your professionalism so we can continue doing our job here efficiently. I will gladly answer all your questions in a couple of hours when the gas explosion crisis is over. Until then, please check the medical teams schedule I left on Registration desk on my way here. Now, let's save some lives.'

* * *

'You paired up with me?' Paris rose an eyebrow.

Rory shrugged.

'I think Peterson used an alphabetical system when setting up the teams. So, who's behind that curtain?' she nodded towards the ER cubicle Paris had just come out of.

Paris sighed grimly.

'Twelve year old boy, second and third degree burns covering extensive areas... It's quite bad.'

'I'll get him a painkiller cocktail and get what we need to dress the wounds. You started antibiotic and fluids?'

'What do you think?'

Rory nodded, biting back a witty comment.

Paris looked to the side and placed both hands on her hips, taking a deep breath in.

'You okay?' Rory stopped to give her friend a look.

'It's bad, Rory,' Paris glanced towards the curtain behind which the boy was lying. 'I'm not sure if he'll make it through tonight without going septic.'

Rory put a hand on Paris' shoulder, offering a small smile.

'We try our best and see how he responds. We give him a chance, then it's up to him. Okay?'

Paris licked a lip and looked down, letting out a loud exhale.

'Yeah.' She looked up, the look in her eyes getting more determined. 'Yeah. Let's do this.'

Paris drew the curtain so that she got into the cubicle next to the burnt boy's bed.

'I heard what you said.'

She had to have thought about that before sticking her foot in her mouth. Shit.

'Can you ease the pain? Please?'

Paris paused and held the boy's look, noting how his green eyes looked tired and watery.

'We will,' she stepped closer, checking his iv line and his monitor before meeting his eyes again. 'Look, Edward, what you heard... I'm not gonna lie to you. You were hurt pretty badly. But I'm really gonna try and get you through this. Really, really do my best. And I'm one hell of a doctor. If someone can move Heaven and Earth, that's me. Got it?'

The boy's eyes twinkled with hope.

'Got it.'

'Okay. Now I'm gonna get you drugged so you're gonna believe everything I say, plus you're not gonna feel the pain as bad as you do right now.'

'You allowed to do this?'

'Get you drugged? Absolutely. From now on, I'm your guardian devil.'

'Devil?'

Paris shrugged.

'They were always more efficient.'

A couple of hours later Dr Paris Geller was starting to believe that she was in fact able to move Heaven and Earth because Edward's vitals were stable and his fever was slowly going down. And at the back of her mind, she wondered if it was ever gonna stop. The feeling that any kid who came to the ER was in a way her kid. The overwhelming feeling of responsibility. And guilt. The fear that if she failed to save any of those injured kids, she wasn't gonna be able to live with herself.

'Hey,' Rory approached her on St Morrison's rooftop. It was snowing again, but it was light and beautiful, covering the streets in puffy snow. Nothing like the blizzard last night. In the small morning hours and the lingering dusk, the evening felt surreal.

'You okay?' Rory asked.

Paris turned to look at her friend.

'Yeah. Just taking five before I get home.'

Rory nodded.

'Me too. Been a hard night.'

'Jess?'

'He's staying another hour or two. However, I'm so groggy I'm starting to feel sick. I'm gonna head home, want a lift in my cab?'

Paris shook her head.

'Okay then. Oh, and good job with that kid. You really pulled him through last night.'

Paris nodded solemnly. She was lost in her own sleep-deprived thoughts, asking herself whether being a mother made her unprofessional. Because, tonight she went out of her way to help that boy. Moreover, she had made a promise. She had given him hope. And it was common knowledge a doctor should never make promises, especially to a patient, especially to a critically ill patient. Because such kind of promise were never theirs to keep.

Up in the dusky sky, more and more snowflakes formed and fell in a disorderly fashion, free and innocent, making a free flight down and around only to meet their end into an infamous puddle, most of them not even living long enough to bask in the forthcoming morning light.

Paris shook her head and went back in, preparing to leave. She was tired and got a kid at home, her own son waiting for her to give him her undivided attention.

* * *

'Okay, so that's gonna be weird.'

Jess cast an unimpressed glance at Tristan who had just limped into the locker room, wobbling in his walking cast.

'What is.'

'I'm gonna share something,' Tristan said, opening his locker and taking out a King Julian _Feel Free To Bask In My Glow_ tee.

'Do you have to?' Jess arched an eyebrow skeptically.

Tristan took off the upper part of his uniform and threw the tee on.

'Paris is on to get me and I wanna stay friends without getting into a relationship.' he got out on an exhale as he not very graciously started taking his scrub pants off, panting as they got stuck over the cast before he managed to set the material free with a hard pull and a colorful grunt. He looked up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. 'Here, I already feel better.'

Jess continued tying the laces of his combat boots.

'O...kay.'

'It's like she wants a whole Broadway performance and I'm stalling around, whistling. I mean... we're friends. And it's good. Really good. But a relationship? Huh, I'm so severely underprepared for such a venture, it's bound to blow off. Like bringing a knife to a gunfight, you know? Can I share some more?'

Jess looked up, his expression deadpan.

'There is more?'

'Oh, there is.'

Jess kept back from wincing, but his expression definitely gave the 'Why me' vibe off.

Tristan managed to shimmy into a pair of baggy track pants over the cast and stood up, giving Jess a glare.

'Man, I was this close to calling Doyle and ask him how he handled a Paris situation.'

'That's easy,' Jess snickered. 'You don't handle a Paris situation, it handles you.'

'Great,' Tristan huffed. 'Chuck Norris reference, really helpful.'

Jess only shrugged and stood up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, amusement evident in his eyes.

'So,' Tristan took a breath and braced himself, 'Let's get to the point. When you do the gentleman's business, do you think about Rory?'

Jess stopped in his track and sized Tristan down, arching an eyebrow in a silent question.

'You know, the gentleman's business,' Tristan gave Jess a pointed look, 'attending to your - you know.'

'Jeez,' Jess huffed, unable to decide if he was more amused or put off by Tristan's oversharing tendencies, 'you're unbelievable, Dugray.'

'No judging, pal. Just asking.'

'None of your damn business, _pal._ ' Jess shook his head disbelievingly. 'Fucking unbelievable.'

'Because I do.'

The look Jess gave him was murderous. It made Tristan snap back out of his otherwise deep thoughts.

'Oh! I don't mean Rory. I don't think about her while I... I meant Paris. Did you think that... Huh, that would be weird, right?'

The expression on Jess' face was pretty telling that it was time he stopped talking. Like, yesterday. However, Tristan was obviously on a roll.

'I meant Paris. And isn't it strange that I don't wanna start a relationship? Because then I could have all those fantasies for real and -'

'Okay, enough,' Jess slammed the door to his locker with a thud and started to leave. 'Are you familiar with the meaning of too much information? Find a damn therapist, Dugray. Or better - call Doyle. Jeez.'

* * *

Jess unlocked the front door to the apartment, thinking of ways to scrub the last pieces of conversation off his brain.

'Ror?'

The lights were on. He kicked his shoes to the side and walked into the living room, ruffling Cerberus' head as he looked around. Empty. He popped his head into the dark bedroom to find it empty too. The lights were on in the bathroom and the door was slightly ajar. Jess felt a wolfish smirk pull at the corners of his mouth, hoping to find Rory in some state of undress.

He had tried to call her on his way home but her phone was dead. She probably forgot to charge it. Or turned it off in order to have some sleep after taking a quick shower. His smirk grew wider as he imagined she was in fact waiting for him, hopefully with nothing more than a towel on.

'Ror?' he called as he knocked on the bathroom door, pushing it to open further.

He walked into an empty bathroom, Cerberus in tow and just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye. A package. Lying on top of the thrash can. A quick pregnancy test package.

Jess moved stiffly to sit down on the bath edge, leaning both elbows against his knees. He stared at the mobile in his hands, trying to chase the numb feeling away. He tried telling himself he didn't know what the test result said. Tried telling himself that maybe he wouldn't have to get into a fight he'd been fearing for the last four years. He looked into Cerberus' dark gazing eyes and wondered how one moment you had everything you'd ever wanted, and then, somehow, you didn't.

* * *

 **TBC**


	20. Never Was, Always To Be

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Neither are the quotes used below, surrownded by ~ ~.  
_

 **A/N: As promised, here comes another ride.** ** **Writing this chapter has been so very emotional. I** hope you enjoy all the feels it's meant to make you experience :) Remember your feedback is highly appreciated.**

 **PS: As you will see, this chapter is written from the other characters' perspective. An insight on Rory's feelings is coming in next chapter. Again, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 _~ I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will, and yet, I am the confidence of all who live and breathe. What am I? ~  
_

 **Lorelai**

Lorelai Gilmore stood at her doorstep - a guardian soldier with her arms folded before her chest. Looking tall while sporting that half-doubtful half-defensive expression, her crystal blue eyes pinning the unwelcome intruder down.

Jess chewed on his lower lip and let a slow breath out looking to the side. He let her dissect him with her ice-sharp stare for as long as she had to.

Lorelai Gilmore was a gatekeeper guarding her daughter's heart. The sphinx keeping the princess' secret, warding strangers off... Figures.

Jess held Lorelai's look, caught off guard by how this particular shade of blue hit a little too close to home. Before he could stop himself, there was a picture in his mind - a pair of striking blue eyes, bright and vibrant, on the face of an infant. His inner chest lurched. Like jumping off a cliff and finding there was nothing beneath, he felt like his insides were trying to get out and break out of his chest. Jess shook his head mentally, chastising himself for getting all sentimental. As if he was the one pregnant, driven by raging hormones.

He ran a palm down his mouth and sighed, putting a hand on his hip under Lorelai's unyielding gaze.

After god knows how long, Lorelai made the slightest move to the side, indicating he could go in, the look in her eyes telling him she was gonna scrutinize his every step and act at the slightest sign of danger.

* * *

 _~ I'll be waiting 'til you're ready for my love ~  
_

 **Jess**

He walked into the room with calm, controlled movements. Stopped before her bed taking in Rory's tear-streaked face, the red rims around her eyes, the silent pleading he read in them. He knew that pleading all too well. He knew it from experience. The pleading to not ask questions she didn't have the answers to.

Jess kept her look as he took off his shoes, slipped off his jacket and climbed into the bed next to her, settling with his legs stretched, crossed at the ankles. He turned his head to the side to have a look at her and placed a hand around her shoulders, bringing her close. She felt stiff. He could feel her ache. Her precaution. He kept his arm around her, stroking her head in a slow caress, his fingers threading through her hair. His breathing was rhythmic, steady. His chest warm against her wet cheek. He was grounded against her numbness.

She inhaled deeply. Held her breath. And as her arms moved to lock around his torso, she shook with the first quiet sob.

Jess stood there, calm and grounded, and held her as she cried herself to sleep.

...

'She's hurting,' Lorelai stood by the fridge, eyeing him closely with her arms folded before her chest.

Jess continued his silent study of the table cloth pattern, playing absently with the pack of cigarettes he'd bought on his drive here.

'She's feeling inadequate to the situation,' Lorelai continued. 'Feeling saddened by something that usually causes bouts of nervous excitement.'

Jess stood silently and, if possible, his expression sulked even more.

'She told me about the abortion after their breakup with Logan,' Lorelai said and met his look as his eyes flashed with silent surprise. 'I haven't fully processed it yet. I'm doing my best not to impose my confusion on her yet I...'

Lorelai paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

'I really wish she had told me about it at the time. Would've been there for her. If she'd let me.'

They stood in the kitchen, sharing a less than comfortable silence.

'You always this chatty or is it just me stealing all the cool banter lines?' Lorelai asked.

'I guess.'

'You're not giving me particular reasons to like you, are you?'

'Not trying to,' Jess said with a one-shoulder shrug.

Lorelai's eyes narrowed, as if she was debating on firing back a witty comment.

'She asked about Paris,' Jess said then, standing up. 'She's coming over tomorrow.'

He headed for the staircase towards Rory's room. Lorelai's voice came behind him.

'Love isn't always easy,' she said, her tone somewhere between resigned and comforting. 'Give her time.'

Jess stopped, his fingers splayed over the banister.

'Loving her has never been a problem,' he said, giving Lorelai a nod before he went upstairs.

* * *

 _~ You always hurt the one you love, The one you shouldn't hurt at all ~_

 **Paris**

'You're not saying anything,' Rory mumbled from her spot in the armchair.

Paris sighed, looking out through the window. She picked at the bed cover of Rory's bed where she was sitting.

'I don't know... It's just... You get told how a child brings so much love into your life, it's almost too much but still the best feeling you'll ever get in the whole wide world and...'

Paris looked down at her lap.

'Well it's true,' she shrugged, her eyes glued to the bed cover threads between her fingers. 'But sometimes I ask myself - all this love you get to feel, and what for?'

She looked up at Rory who was listening to her with her lips on her knuckles, a used tissue rumpled in her fist.

'I never chose to feel all that overwhelming love and care but it's suddenly there, and it's like some bad habit you can't get rid of,' Paris continued. 'Once you get to feel this, nothing else compares. It's like the strongest dope - suddenly nothing less can suffice.'

Paris leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together.

'Parents are addicts who strive to be better people because of their children, but no matter how hard they try, it's never enough. Being a mom has made a Holden Caulfield out of me. I look at all those children and I wanna get them somewhere safe but I can't and I feel frustrated by all the exasperating love I feel.'

Paris let out something between a sigh and a groan.

'What I mean is, being a parent makes your life more meaningful. I ask myself, like literally ask myself - what was my life's point before Josh came into this world? Because I can't imagine I had any, and this coming from me should say a lot. So yeah,' Paris shrugged, 'being a parent brings all those feelings of purpose, and immeasurable love and devotion. But it doesn't necessarily make you happier. And maybe it's very anti-feminine of me but here's what I say - if you're not feeling sure you want your life to change forever, maybe you shouldn't put yourself in a situation where it will, irrevocably.'

...

'Do you realize what you've just done?' Jess hissed.

'Rory deserves to be told the truth,' Paris folded her arms before her chest defiantly.

'Oh really?' Jess fumed. 'And what is the truth, Paris? Because last time I checked, your best friend was feeling lost and scared and turned to you to give her a piece of advice from the position of someone who has been there, and you practically told her to have an abortion if she was feeling confused.'

'Well guess what big alfa daddy, this isn't about you. This is about her and a choice that's gonna change her life upside down.'

Jess froze and gave Paris an astounded look.

'You think I didn't think about her?' he asked, his voice rising and cracking. 'You think she's not everything I've been thinking about ever since this whole ordeal?' He was practically yelling now. 'God, I have no fucking idea how I feel about this, because all I've been thinking about is what her choice is going to do to her. Here you go suggesting that she can do this, make an abortion and get her life back to normal. But have you stopped to think that this will change her? Because she won't be just Rory after this, she will be Rory who has made a second abortion, a fully conscious choice made under much more different circumstances than the one she had when she was twenty-four, hardly graduating and in the middle of a cheating boyfriend breakup. So don't you tell me this is not about me, because I'm not the one letting my personal misjudgement factor in.'

Jess stopped to take a breath, his whole body shaking. His eyes were wild, his breathing ragged. He looked like a man brought to the limit.

'Shit,' he rubbed both palms against his face, making a desperate effort to collect himself.

'What did I do,' Paris whispered, stunned by her own stupidity. 'Jess, let me get back to her, I need to tell her-'

Jess rose a palm up in warning.

'You need nothing, you've done enough.'

'I'm sorry okay? Please let me go back in so I can talk to her.'

'I think we're finished here, Paris,' Jess said with a tone of cold finality.

Paris' eyes were quickly welling up.

'I'm sorry okay?'

Jess' look was heavy with devastation.

'Me too.'

Paris lifted her chin, tears rolling down her cheeks.

'Give me one minute. Literally. That's all I need. Please give me one minute and I'll be gone, promise.'

Jess' weary look paused on her, his eyes back to their deep stoic brown.

He didn't say a thing. He stood there looking at her, his eyes weary and haunted. Then he moved to the side, letting her pass while he stood by the window facing out, both hands on his hips. Paris glanced towards him, taking in his strained profile, the slightly hunched shoulders, the now obvious struggle to keep it together. Like a man forbidden to scream but needing it badly. Paris bit on her lip and looked down, climbing the stairs.

...

 ** _One Week Ago_**

 _'We have to let him go, Paris,' Tristan said looking towards Edward's hospital room.  
_

 _'No.'_

 _'He's suffering.'_

 _'I promised to help him.'_

 _'Then let him go.'_

 _'I wanted to be there for him.'_

 _'You are. He knows it.'_

 _'Why is life so unfair?'_

 _'It just is. You did your best.'_

 _'Still not enough.'_

 _'In some ways, it is.'_

 _'How?'_

 _'It's enough to make him feel... noticed. Sometimes that's as good as it gets. You gave him compassion. He won't be alone when it happens. That's more than most people can ask for. He's tired, Paris. Let him rest.'_

 _'If I let him go it's as if I'm giving up on him.'_

 _She had promised the boy she would get him through. She almost did. Until he'd gone septic and all of his systems started crashing._

 _'Maybe you have to. For his own sake.'_

 _Paris talked to Edward's parents. It was one of many talks. But this one felt different. Because it felt final. It was. It was the last talk. The one where she told them that she had to stop the machines keeping their kid alive, that they could have their time to have their last goodbyes and then everything would be over.  
_

 _She made small steps, each of them unbearable. The burden upon her shoulders squashed her down, made her suffocate. Paris hated her job right now. She hated it with the passion of someone who'd been trained to fight for any chance, fight to the last second, keep life up even when it was holding onto the tiniest thread. And now she had to cut that thread loose._

 _She went to Edward's bed and took a moment to have a look at him. She took in the tubes and wires, the bandages covering practically all of his skin. She checked the monitors where life could still be detected. Monitors could detect and measure life. They couldn't detect and measure moral values, they couldn't measure pain. Couldn't tell you when that precise moment when you gave up was.  
_

 _Paris leaned down to touch the bandage covering Edward's left arm and whispered, willing her voice to sound even,_

 _'You are a brave guy, Edward. It's been an honor. I... I'll be here okay?'_

 _She took a sharp intake of air and stood up, bracing herself. Another last step towards the respiratory support. A last glance towards Edward's family behind the glass windows. Exchanging a curt nod with the ICU nurse. Paris put her hand on the respiratory support control. Her pulse was beating erratically, the adrenaline rush clouding her hearing, blurring her vision, letting rapid jolts of electricity run down her spine and numb her limbs. She took a slower breath, willing herself to calm. Then felt the warm heaviness of another hand covering hers over the respiratory support button. She looked up to find a pair of calm blue eyes focused on hers._

 _'When you're ready,' Tristan's quiet voice carried._

 _Paris took another moment to glance at Edward's family, then at Edward's bed. She felt the clutch of emotion grip at her throat and knew precisely what was about to happen. Alarms would go off, beeping like crazy. Monitors would start flashing. A stifled desperate sob would carry through the glass windows. Edward's mom. Paris pressed up into Tristan's hand and let out a sigh as his fingers closed tighter around hers over the button. She looked up at him in silent communication. Exchanging small nods. They pressed down._

 _..._

 _Numb, Paris sat in her place, pressing the heels of her hands against the hospital bed. There was no silver lining. No. Everything was simply falling apart. Everything she had struggled so hard to keep together was falling apart around her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Or worse. There was, but she hadn't figured out how to._

 _She felt someone sit beside her. She knew who it was without needing to look. Someone who hadn't let her press that button alone. She felt a warm hand cover hers, his fingers intertwining tightly over hers._

 _She felt the sobs choke her, making her chest heave._

 _She leaned into him and let him wrap her into a hug._

 _'It's...' she tried to talk but choked, 'It's... It's not...'_

 _'I know,' Tristan said into her hair, tucking her head under his chin, rocking her gently._

 _'He was...'_

 _'I know.'_

 _The sobs came on and on, shaking her against him. He smoothed her hair against her nape and when that didn't help and she continued to shake, he gathered her in his arms, moving her legs across his so that he could hold her like a child._

 _'Shh.'_

 _'Paris,' Helen's voice came above them, sounding apprehensive._

 _'I got her,' Tristan said. Then, against Paris' hair, 'Sh-shh,' he rocked her close, his thumbs rubbing semicircles against her arms. She was shaking so hard, gasping for air. He kept murmuring into her hair._

 _'You did right. One day, you'll know you ended up with the right regrets.'_

 _She stilled into his arms and drew back so that she could face him. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes sparkling with surprise as she studied him. Tristan's brow furrowed questioningly but he let her rake his face, obviously searching for something. They eyed each other for a while until the most amazing thing happened. Paris blinked a couple of welled tears away and relaxed into him, closing her arms tight behind his back. She curled into him, resting her cheek against his chest, calming. Possibly for the first time in her life, Paris Geller let someone console her._

* * *

 **Present Time**

'I had to stop Edward's respiratory support last week,' Paris said as soon as she entered the room, leaning back against the door she had just closed. 'I overstepped a line with him. I got too personally involved. You noticed it, Tristan noticed it, but I was too stubborn to admit it. I gave this kid a promise I could not keep and had to watch him die. This is by far the most hurtful thing I've done that could be preventable. I didn't think better when I must have. I'm strongly biased by what has recently happened in my own life when I tell you how I feel about parenthood. I stand by what I told you because to me it is true but it isn't the whole truth, not by a far stretch.'

She blinked, willing herself to look at Rory who was sitting with her legs folded beneath her in an armchair, looking at Paris with her red puffy eyes.

'What I forgot to tell you is what an incredible mother you would be. I'm not sugarcoating it, it's a plain fact. I didn't tell you earlier because somehow I thought it figured. But... there's no way I can tell if you actually know it for sure, so it's better said out loud and clear, because you're totally gonna be a good parent. If you decide that's what you want.'

Paris turned to go but, as if remembering something, paused and turned back to Rory.

'Jess... he loves you so unfathomably much. I hope you work this out and... and I hope each of you ends with the right regrets. I'm sorry if I've unnecessarily hurt you by anything I've said earlier.'

Paris took a sharp breath in and walked out.

* * *

 **TBC**


	21. Ripple Effect

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. _

* * *

**Rory**

It's a notion that isn't there when the tidal wave hits. It's like the ripple effect of an event of greater importance. The aftershocks of a current, but it's not the current itself but the aftershocks that shape the final outcome. In intensive care, there are those small parameters called critical predictors. They aren't always the big events that led the patient into the ER in the first place, but some small initially insignificant details that turn out to be of greater importance afterwards, as the condition develops.

Rory Gilmore looks out through her childhood bedroom window and sees her fiance sit on the porch steps, turning a cigarette pack into his hands.

She remembers some small insignificant details about him. Like how when they met, he tended to avoid long eye contact. Or how physical touch made him stiffen at first, contrary to his aloof and outwardly easy manner of physical comfort. There was this innate sadness in him that was explained by a life revolving around so many losses, an upbringing based on compromise. He looked... _resigned_ when she first met him. Resigned that he wasn't shooting for happiness - after all, happiness never was in the cards for him, he'd lost too much too young for that. What was in the cards though, was some kind of comfort. Jess Mariano had been preparing to lead a life based on careful damage control when Rory first met him. Yeah, he could do that. Glide on the surface of things, maneuvering through life unscathed. Until her.

Rory turns and walks to her wardrobe where she keeps her childhood scrapbooks. Opens the door, takes out one. Sits.

...

Before she goes to bed later on, she thinks about the ways in which she's changed his life. Some of the changes are subtle. Some of them, not so much.

There used to be this loneliness in him. It used to be this encompassing force, ruling his life so thoroughly when she first met him. It's still there of course - still resurfacing every now and then. But she thinks, no - she _knows_ \- it's somehow soothed by her presence in his life. She taught Jess happiness. And she might well be the one who takes that away from him. When he enters the room a while later, climbing into the bed quietly in order not to wake her, she tells him they need to rent a car and go back to New York tomorrow. He stills next to her. He breathes. He doesn't question her because he probably suspects. They lie in the dark, not saying a word. It's hours before any of them gets any sleep.

* * *

She's waiting for her appointment. Jess is outside (she specifically asked him to wait outside, she couldn't do this with him by her side and he seemed to understand... at least he didn't object). So, Jess is outside, probably pacing around staring at the cigarette pack he's been keeping in his jeans' pocket lately. He's been carrying it around for days, not realizing it's still unopened since he bought it. It probably gives him some sense of comfort, gives him something to do and think about. He's been so observant about her and so oblivious about himself lately. She, however, notices. Everything he's been silently holding back, she's noticed. Like, how with every passing day he's looking progressively unhappy. She thinks it's his self-imposed helplessness. With each passing day he's getting more attached to this child that is still only a mess of cells but that's growing with each second within her. She suspects he was reading a gestation article the other day, probably thinking about the life she had the power to take away. The power _he_ has given her. He had clearly showed that he would accept whatever decision she decided to make.

When she told him she had a doctor's appointment this morning he'd given her a small nod, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down a couple of times before he said,

'I'll drive you.'

He didn't ask her if she had made a decision. If he was driving her today so she could end this pregnancy. But it was in the air.

If she is gonna end it, she wants to do it without any extra fuss, not needing to prolong the slow torture she's been putting both of them through for any longer than necessary. He doesn't need to get more emotionally involved with this child only to have it taken away from him. She owes Jess at least that much.

Rory crosses and uncrosses her legs twice before she decides to distract herself with something. Her hand is trembling as she reaches for one of the magazines over the side table. She picks one that doesn't feature women with rounded bellies hugging laughing children on the cover. She ends up reading an article about cervical cancer. At least it's something familiar. Dealing with ill people. She's familiar with that. She can do this. Read about something she knows. Ill people. Yep.

She's immersed in the PAP smear classification when the conversation a couple of seats away starts to sound louder to the point she can't help but hear every single word.

'He's almost impossible to stand ninety percent of the time. But there's so much love you knnow,' the woman explains to her companion who is an elderly lady, probably her mother or her mother in law. 'Those other ten percent compensate for the times of torture. It's so irrational. But when you think about it, loving your child is the epitome of your love for anyone in your life - your family, yourself, your partner, your job. This love is like the focus of all those other loves, bound together.'

Rory thinks about one of the conversations she and Paris had a couple of days before, when she came to visit again.

 _'It makes you reconsider all of the important relationships you have in your life, including the one with yourself. Even in the best of times, it's overwhelming. It complicates your life. But love generally does that. And when it's good, it's_ good _.'_

 _'Love wasn't enough, though. For you and Doyle.'_

When it became too much to carry, when there was Josh in the picture, Paris and Doyle didn't stand the chance. It had been some breaking point, a point of no return, and their relationship had expired. And they were Paris and Doyle. Everyone had thought they were endgame. Paris and Doyle had thought they were endgame.

 _'It's easier to blame it on the extra burden, but... I don't know, I think we were both weak and gave up at the same time. Sometimes, in relationships, one party gives up and the other has to compensate. And this happened a lot through the years together, you know?'_

She knew. She had had the same dynamics with Jess. It was in the mechanics of a long term relationship, she supposed.

 _'It was just that, at some point I strained Doyle to his utmost, and he got weary. And I have to forgive both of us for that, at some point around the same time, I got weary and gave up too. I think I have to forgive myself for making him pull away, and him for not being strong enough not to. Maybe Josh catalyzed this, but it's unfair to blame it on him given the reasons why me and Doyle split. Josh had nothing to do with the reasons we gave up on each other.'_

'Rory Gilmore?' a nurse comes out of the ob-gyn's office.

* * *

She walks out of the doctor's office feeling numb and dizzy. It's been more than an hour. How much more, she doesn't know, but it's getting dark when she walks outside into the winter air. It's another two days before the Christmas holidays begin. She has forgotten it's almost Christmas, didn't even cross her mind when she checked the doctor's working schedule earlier.

Jess is inside the car when Rory approaches. He looks flustered, unable to move from his place in the driver's seat as he watches her open the passenger door and climb into the vehicle.

As soon as she closes the door she starts sobbing. They reach for each other almost simultaneously, arms locking around each other, holding on.

'I couldn't do it,' she yelps. 'I stood there and thought it had to be now or never and I just couldn't do it. I thought about it and I don't feel any more sure about what I am about to do, but I just couldn't kill anything that has a part of you in it.'

The words tumble out of her mouth and she's crying and sobbing and she's an emotional mess. She tells him about the magazines on the waiting room table. About the PAP smear article. About the conversation between the women she involuntarily overheard. About the doctor's question if this was a wanted pregnancy or not and how she started babbling something about being confused and excusing herself because her emotions were all over the place and she was obviously incapable to answer because it wasn't a multiple choice, it was a simple yes or no question right, and she couldn't deliver a yes or no, she simply couldn't. She tells Jess how the doctor gave her a tissue pack and calmly asked if she was here to plan an abortion and how the sound of that coming from his mouth was somehow outrageous, how she suddenly felt an overwhelming protectiveness of Jess as she heard the facts laid out so plain and simple. How she then knew one thing, at last she knew one thing for sure, and it was she wasn't gonna hurt Jess' baby - how was she supposed to even consider hurting anything that came from him, eh?. The rest of the examination had turned into a blur. The doctor had given her some pregnancy informational brochures. She takes a bunch of papers out of her coat's pocket as if to prove it, waves them before Jess, wiping her tears frantically. Then leaves the papers over the dashboard and asks him to hug her again because she's still shaking, she's shaking so hard, it must be the hormones she says. He doesn't object. He stays there and does as he's asked. When she's feeling a little more stable he asks her she wants to go home. She says they need to go to Stars Hollow, she has to inform her mother. He starts the engine and takes the highway.

When they pull in front of Lorelai's house Rory gets out of the car and walks in, hurrying before she's lost momentum. Jess is about to get out of the car when he spots the bunch of brochures on the dashboard and takes them, heading for the house. He's at the porch, bending over the doorstep to untie his combat boots, when the papers fall and scatter over the floor and a small sonogram makes appearance between them. He pauses and narrows his eyes, taking the small piece of paper between his fingers to look at. He stares at it and feels for the wall, sitting down on the floor as he uses the wall for leverage. He's unable to tear his eyes away from the small glossy black and white print. He doesn't realize his face is wet until a paper tissue appears before his eyes. He looks up. He's still sitting on the porch's wooden floor, leaning back against the wall right next to the doorstep. Lorelai is standing tall before him, a milder look of understanding in her eyes. He takes the tissue and feels self-conscious as he dabs his eyes with a jerky, awkward movement. Lorelai seems to sense his self-consciousness and turns to go but pauses at the door and and gives him a square look. He wants to say he didn't make her. He didn't, okay? It was Rory's decision, he didn't force any part of it, although it almost killed him not to. However, there's still a giant lump in his throat and he doesn't speak. Lorelai smiles.

'Thank you,' she mouths and gives him a small nod before she walks back in.

* * *

 **TBC**


	22. It's Okay To Have Doubts

_Disclaimer_ _: Nothing's mine._

* * *

Doing the right thing didn't make you feel better. That's what Rory first thought as she woke up the next day. And the next. Or the one after that. She had done the right thing... hopefully. However, it didn't make her feel any less apprehensive or confused. She had one landmark. Don't hurt Jess. Lol. Great starting point. It sure spoke volumes for the level of devotion she would show as a future parent. Don't hurt Jess. Great. At least it was something. One step at a time.

It was the third day of Christmas and the house was bubbling with talk and laughter. Luke and Lorelai, Paris and Josh, Tristan and Aiden, even Lane and the twins made an appearance for dinner. No one pressed her to talk or show any more animosity than she felt like. But the mood was much more high key than it used to be.

'How have you been?' Tristan asked approaching her in the kitchen where she poured sweet punch for her mother and Lane.

'Easy going like a high functioning sociopath,' Rory shrugged.

'That good, eh?' he smirked.

'How is Paris?' Rory asked instead.

Tristan's eyes narrowed. She was the one who was going through an existential crisis, wasn't she? Weren't peoope supposed to be concerned how _she_ was?

'She's my friend, Tristan', Rory said calmly. 'I care about her.'

Tristan kept silently studying her. Was it possible that Rory had remained sensitive to the impact her oeo crisis had on others around her?

'Jess asked her for help and... it didn't go as either of them had expected. I think they got into a fight.'

Tristan's mouth moved into a smile. So it was true. Real friendship did exist.

'Well?' Rory probed.

He shrugged thoughtfully. He'd never seen Paris say so little as she did those last couple of days. It was disconcerting.

'She's been quiet. And she's Paris. So.. yeah. I guess she's still fazed.'

'They are so much alike.'

'Eh?' If Tristan was drinking a cup of something, he would've choked on it, coughing uncontrollably.

Rory let out a small sigh, as if she'd somehow expected his answer.

'Paris and Jess,' she explained. 'So hard on themselves.'

'Interesting,' Tristan put both of his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. 'I'd never thought about it that way.'

'Then you must be blind,' Rory shook her head with a small smile and started to go back into the living room, carrying both glasses with punch.

'Hey.'

She felt Tristan's hand on her shoulder and turned.

'I wanted to say ehm... congratulations,' he said quietly, almost shyly. 'I know it's not so simple, but...' he rubbed his neck and looked to the side before looking back into her eyes. 'Being a parent has been the best thing about my life and, well, I hope it is for you too.'

He shrugged, putting his hands back into his jeans' pockets.

'Plus, the sight of Mariano changing diapers is sure gonna be a treat,' he smirked, getting the playful tone back into the conversation.

'Thanks, Tristan.'

* * *

Jess walked out on the porch and stopped one step away, giving her space. She turned, feeling his presence, and he observed her face in the semidarkness.

'Hey,' she said.

'Hey,' Jess echoed.

'I'm okay,' she interjected before he asked the question.

He let out a small self-deprecating smile. Seemed like he wasn't going to ask. He was beyond that. Beyond pushing her to account for the way she felt. He wasn't gonna ask her, he'd followed her so that she had him around in case she needed him. He had let her be. Whatever that was supposed to mean. But it felt strangely... liberating.

'Did you see the way his fingers gripped her blouse?' Rory asked, mentally picturing the way Josh's small fingers clutched at the fabric over Paris' shoulder when she picked up the sleeping kid up from the sofa. It had happened so quickly - for only a moment he was gripping at his mom before he relaxed again, feeling the familiar presence. Like a permission to relax. It was so subtle, such a minor everyday detail. But for some reason it struck Rory. Somehow, it felt very important when she saw it. She saw it, noted it, remembered it. And Jess, being Jess, silently observed everything.

Jess looked up at her, giving her a small nod. He was so quiet these days. Like it was his job to register every little detail, a silent presence, a guard on watch... a spectator to his own life. He was always there, always at an arm's length, never pushing. Present without imposing. Silently available.

Rory studied his face, noting the tired strain in his features.

'It was so...' she paused and sought his eyes. ' _exquisite_ ,' she finished with a small thoughtful sigh.

His eyes flashed with surprise but he was fast to cover it. He was so very careful to watch his emotions these days. However, she caught it. The glimpse of surprise. The unexpected hope. The way he pushed them back as soon as they came up.

'It's the first time I felt joy about the prospect of being a mother,' Rory said and for a moment she thought he was cringing - he was, but it was with relief. The sudden stab of unexpected happiness. 'it feels...' she was about to say incredible but wasn't sure if the emotion would stick around for long, so she settled for 'Good. It feels good.'

Really good.

 _And I hope to God this feeling sticks around_ , she thought but didn't voice. She wanted to let him experience a single joyful moment for what it was, without ruining it with any ungrounded apprehension.

She offered her hand, reaching for his that hung idly by his side. She looped her point and middle finger around his. He made a step closer so that they were standing side by side.

'Thank you,' she uttered.

'For what?' Jess asked, perplexed.

 _For waiting. For giving me the chance to get there. I don't know if I will... But I'm glad we're giving this a chance._

She looked up at him, the thought that he was not the only one whose life changed because of this relationship. She had been thinking about the way he'd changed under her influence. How he'd become known to smile, and laugh, and be happy. But she had changed too. Because she was considering the possibility that maybe - just maybe - becoming a mother was something meant for her. She knew she'd never get here on her own. And she had him to thank for that.

'For giving me reasons to try this. For being patient with me as I do.'

His fingers closed around hers, the warmth of his palm spreading to her through where they were linked. And for a moment, neither of them was alone in this.

* * *

It was after breakfast the next morning when Rory found him at the porch and nodded towards the dining room where Paris was trying to talk Josh into eating a tangerine for dessert instead of an energy bar he'd sneaked from Lorelai's special stash supply.

'You're still mad at her', Rory noted. It wasn't a question but a plain observation.

The frown across Jess' brows deepened.

'You know, if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have had the bravery to go through with this,' Rory said.

Jess' look was silently surprised. And doubtful.

'You don't believe it?' She rose an eyebrow, looking incredulous, almost amused.

'Jess, thanks to Paris I know about the ups and downs of parenthood. They tell you it's gonna be hard, but no one ever really tells about what it feels like to be a wreck of a parent. And she has never been dishonest about it. She let me see that even good parents have shitty days. She showed me a realistic picture of what my life may be in a year or two. And now I know that it's okay to have doubts. Everyone has them. Good parents just don't let doubt rule their choices but it's not because of lack of times of self-questioning.'

Rory studied his face and gave a small shake to her head.

'She's only ever been herself, going through this before my eyes and being honest about it. Honesty is such a powerful weapon, have you thought about this? I know you may have had different expectations about her role in this, but I believe that in time you'll see her for what she is. I'm not pressing you to forgive her... Just be easy on her until you do? She's been our rock in times of need. It's a hard job to do, even for a wonderwoman like Paris.'

Jess' look was focused somewhere around her knees and his jaw was set stubbornly. Rory let out a sympathetic smile.

'When you were a total ass towards me, after the shooting,' she said softly, patiently, 'what did she tell you?'

Jess made a face.

'I'll tell you what she told _me_. She never once judged you. She understood because she recognized the love behind your choices, even though they were hurtful to me.'

 _Love is uncompromising,_ Paris had told him. _I just came to tell you that I know what you're doing and why you're doing it._

'What she told me,' Rory continued, 'that she would stand behind my choice even if I decided not to be a mother - _that_ took extreme bravery. No one else put it like her, no one else granted me the freedom to do it and still be understood. It made me feel like I had a choice, like it was okay to feel the way I felt.'

Jess' brows were set in a deep frown, his brown eyes vivid with emotion.

'I...' his voice came out deep and hoarse. He paused to wet his lips. 'I asked her for help because you needed her. And it felt like my world was about to end and was holding onto this thin thread. And there she came, cutting it and then stomping all over it, almost by mistake. It's almost random how she bulldozers through people's lives, consequences be damned.'

Rory's eyes were full of patient scolding. Jess wet his lips again.

'I have never been so scared in my life,' he uttered and it made Rory's smile wobble.

'I'm so sorry I scared you,' Rory said on an exhale, reaching out to pull him into her arms and hugging him close. 'I know it won't be easy, but we're in this together, okay?'

'Okay.'

His arms closed around her and they breathed into each other for a long moment.

'You can relax now, Jess,' Rory said against his shoulder.

'I'm afraid if I get distracted, I might miss something and everything will fall apart,' he whispered hoarsely in her hair.

'No it won't,' Rory said with some newfound determination. 'It will feel like it will, but it won't. Okay?'

'Okay.'

'Just hold on to me, we're gonna figure this out.'

'Okay.'

'I love you.'

'God, I love you.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	23. Batman's Favorite Sidekick

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Yet. Ha. _

_**A/N: Been in the mood for a Paris/Tristan chapter. So... here it is. Hope you like.**_

 _ **Next chapter is mostly Rory/Jess, so stay tuned :)**_

 _ **Your reviews keep me going, so please - if you feel like you've got something to say, you know just what to do :)**  
_

* * *

'Triple espresso for my dear friend,' Tristan put a takeaway cup before Paris, leaning next to her against the counter of the nurses stration.

Paris continued doing charts, ignoring him. She hadn't ordered any beverage. If she pretended not to notice him, he would hopefully disappear. _Rright_.

'Your brooding tendencies disgust me,' he smirked, turning so that he was facing the area around the nurses station, resting his elbows back over the counter.

'Is this about Jess?' he asked matter-of-factly, seemingly preoccupied with studying the bypassing staff and patients. 'He still not talking to you, is that why you're doing charts after your shift is over?'

Paris let out a breath forcefully, sounding a lot like she was suppressing a grunt. _No, don't show you've noticed him. Don't let on and he'll eventually give up._

'So this is about Jess. He's still not talking to you,' Tristan nodded to himself. 'Why's that?'

The pencil almost screeched over the paper.

'Is he being a douche?' Tristan suggested. 'Should I thrash him around the gym floor to knock some sense back into him?'

 _Nothing. Don't say a thing._

'Or could he be too immersed into his own life right now... You know - with the whole gonna be the father to his love child and all the Rory drama going on lately,' Tristan shrugged throughtfully, as if weighing the options.

He could almost hear Paris roll her eyes at him, still keeping silent. However, being a smartass wasn't gonna do the trick. He needed something really impressive to get her to talk. Luckily, he got just the thing.

'You're ignoring me,' he noted observantly, not sounding the least offended. 'I believe the occasion calls for my special assets.'

He pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket. Really, Dugray?

 _Oh, I'm a Gummy Bear,_  
 _Yeah, I'm a Gummy Bear_  
 _Oh, I'm a Yummy, tummy, Funny, Lucky Gummy Bear..._

What. The.

 _I'm a Jelly bear, Cuz I'm a Gummy bear,_  
 _Oh I'm a movin', groovin', Jammin', Singin' Gummy Bear_

'I swear to God, Dugray...' Paris tried to snatch the mobile out of his hand but he was quicker, rising it high above his head.

 _Beba bi Duba duba yum yum_  
 _Beba bi Duba duba yum yum..._

'Aaaahhh, stop it right now or I'll...' she jumped trying to reach the phone but the height difference was ridiculously favoring him.

'Or you'll - what?' Tristan gave her a tight-lipped smile, blinking innocently, knowing all too well that the song was drilling a hole into Paris' brain.

 _Beba bi Duba duba yum yum_  
 _Beba bi Duba duba yum yum..._

'Please stop it okay?' she sounded frustrated and desperate as she hunched over her knees, trying to catch her breath, looking like she was in actual physical pain.

Tristan stopped the music.

'Holy Mother of God.'

Tristan smirked and put the takeaway cup of espresso into her hands, throwing an arm around her shoulders, squeezing as if they were were some kind of reunited best buddies.

'Now be a good girl and tell me why you've been more quiet than Ariel who lost her voice to the sea witch,' he guided her towards the lockers room.

Paris paused to give him a look.

'Ariel. Really?'

'Come on, go change so we can get down to business.'

'Eh?'

'Go now, you.' he made her a gesture to get in. 'My cast is off, I'm gonna get you a slurpee and maybe even an ice cream if you're good.'

What were they, five?

'Dugray, are you high?'

'Only on the taste of your sweet company. Now chop chop, you little chatty minx.'

Paris narrowed her eyes and shook her head questioningly with a what-the-fuck expression. Tristan gave her a wink.

'Go change before I come and interfere or things are about to get messy. Plus, I'm always in the mood for some more Gummy Bear goodness.'

'Don't you dare.'

Tristan rose his brows in a 'try me' gesture.

'Lockers room. Now.'

She rolled her eyes and went into the lockers room.

...

'Are you trying to song-slay me?' Paris deadpanned once they got into the Audi and he started the engine, the sound of Megan Trainor's ' _Me Too_ ' filling the car.

 _Ow who's that sexy thang I see over there?_  
 _That's me, standin' in the mirror..._

Tristan was practically sit-dancing, snapping his fingers in time with the rhythm.

'Will you hold the wheel with both hands? Jeez.'

 _If I was you, I'd wanna be me too_  
 _I'd wanna be me too_

This was really happening. _And_ he was lip-singing. _Just kill me. Now._

Paris shook her head and closed her eyes leaning back against the passenger seat's headrest, praying that whatever this screwed-up dream was, she was gonna wake up soon.

* * *

'Better?' Tristan asked with a smirk, watching Paris devastate her ice-cream with what could be best described as grumpy impatience.

She had firmly rejected his slurpee offer, insisting that slurpees were designed to spread diabetes and kill brain-free hedonists like him. Tristan had laughed for at least five minutes at that. Not that it was even that funny. It was just for the kick of watching Paris boil up.

'I still think you must have gone with an ice-cream and a slurpee,' Tristan leaned forward over the table. They were sitting in a booth by the window, watching as cars pulled in and out of the ice cream parlor's parking lot.

'Your fascination with that thing is ridiculous.'

'You know there's even a vinyl record with slurpee-inspired songs?' he asked, taking a long slurp from his cup.

'Could you be any more obscene?'

Tristan rested back in the booth, folding his arms before his chest, watching her expectantly. His Batman tee was in full view now. The print read _I'm not saying I'm Batman. I'm just saying nobody has ever seen me and Batman in a room together._

Tristan shrugged, the movement making his biceps bulge. It was a nice pair of biceps.

'Will you quit pretending you're not thrown off your game because of your fight with Jess?'

Paris blinked, snapping out of the distraction his upper torso offered.

'We're not talking, so we're not fighting anymore. See? All solved.'

'Paris,' he let out a breath.

She arched an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, assuming the same position he was, sitting back in the boot with her arms folded before her chest.

'Tristan.'

'Are you feeling contrite? Do you need to apologize, is that why you're stuck so hard?'

'Are you feeling especially stupid today or what?' Paris pushed the bowl of ice-cream over the table and stood up abruptly, taking her purse in the process. 'I'm out of here.'

'Paris...' he caught up with her at the exit of the parlor. 'Wait... Come on,' he reached to touch her shoulder and she turned back, her eyes shooting daggers.

'Paris, Tristan!' a high-pitched female voice called behind them.

Both turned.

'Clarissa,' Tristan said with a tight-lipped smile. 'What a surprise to see you here!'

Clarissa approached them, with her son walking in toe.

'What a pleasant surprise indeed,' Clarissa beamed. Then frowned, taking a closer look at both of them. 'Sorry if I interrupted something.'

She smiled knowingly. Little trouble in paradise. All couples had these. But feisty fights ended in feisty makeup sessions, right?

Tristan sobered first, reaching to slip a hand around Paris' shoulders, trying to act like the loyal fake boyfriend he was.

'Oh please,' Paris pushed his arm. 'I'm sick of pretending. We're not a couple okay? He faked being my boyfriend so that you and the rest of the entitled Stepford Mom Society would stop questioning my femininity and shut it about me not being good enough to keep a man around.'

'W-what?' Clarissa gasped, trying but failing in her attempt to show polite surprise.

'He's not really my boyfriend, Clarissa,' Paris said articulately. 'Now, if you excuse me.'

Tristan looked between the obviously dumbfound Clarissa and Paris' leaving back, then shrugged apologetically and ran after Paris.

He caught up with her in the parking lot.

'What the hell was that?' he asked as he stood before her, blocking her way.

'It's that thing people use in desperate situations when they're sick of pretending. It's called telling the truth.'

She tried to sidestep him but he stepped to the side with her, taking her by the shoulders.

'Move or I'll smack you.'

'Okay.'

'I'm serious, Tristan,' Paris said menacingly. 'Step away or I'll hit you.'

'You'll get your chance. But we need a gym mat.'

She blinked, unable to figure out what he was saying.

'Come on,' he took her elbow, nudging her towards his car. 'We're going to your place to grab you something you can sweat in.'

'What are you talking about?' Paris asked, following him nevertheless.

'You need to vent,' Tristan said, taking the car key out of his pocket and unlocking the Audi. 'So that's what we're gonna do.'

...

'Hit the bag, don't push it,' Tristan warned holding the punchbag as Paris prepared to hit.

' _You_ don't push it,' she said, narrowing her eyes.

'Not too forcefully, short snap punches,' he insisted. 'Gimme some footwork.'

'Are you kidding me?'

'Not the least. Come on, let your feet feel the ground, focus on your body. Good. Now prepare your hands. Keep it simple. Feet and fists. Show me an air punch. Okay, now hit. Short quick punches. No pushing. Good. Focus. Only feet and fists.'

'Is this some elaborate plan to feel me up?'

'Yes, Paris. I brought you all the way here so that I can feel you up while I'm holding a punchbag. Exhale with every punch.'

'Why are you putting up with me?' Paris asked while trying to follow his instructions and work her feet while delivering short punches at the punchbag he was holding before her.

'Because I like to be screamed at,' he shrugged. 'Don't lift your elbows so high, keep them close to your body.'

'I've been a cut-throat bitch,' Paris panted, delivering another couple of short punches. 'You hate it when people bitch around for no reason, yet you put up with me. Why?'

'What better way to get you worked up than put up with your shit when you least want me to?' he smirked.

Paris punched again, a little more forcefully than she needed to, and felt a sharp pain in her wrist. She held on to the punchbag.

Tristan held the punchbag, his look focused solely on her.

'You're so much better than you give yourself credit for,' he uttered.

Paris stepped back as if someone had just knocked the air out of her lungs.

'Why would you say that?' Paris breathed, her voice uncharacteristically jaded. What she wasn't proof against was his random kindness. His generous heart was such a nuisance.

Tristan shook his head and let go of the punchbag, placing both hands on his hips as he stood before her.

'Because you keep being cruel to yourself. And it's unnerving.'

She was looking at him, her jaw working, her eyes narrowed in an attempt to keep it together. Such a nuisance. Stupid, generous Tristan.

'I...' he hung his head and scratched his nape, looking awkward. 'I eh...' he jerked a thumb towards the gym bathrooms, 'I'm gonna go shower.'

Tristan took a deep breath, steadying himself, standing taller.

'Meet you in the car.'

She watched as he retreated, wondering what just happened.

She was towel-drying her hair when mobile pinged with a text.

 _ **Shania:** Always be yourself. Unless you can be a pandicorn. Then always be a pandicorn._

Tristan. Stupid, generous boy.

 _ **Paris** : What about Batman?_

 _ **Shania** : What about me? I mean him. What about the Batman?_

 _ **Paris** : Shouldn't one try to be the Batman?_

 _ **Shania** : The Pandicorn was Batman's favorite sidekick. They were basically legendary together._

 _ **Paris** : Thank you._

 _ **Shania** : Legends forever, my friend._

 _ **Paris** : I meant about before... forget it._

 _ **Shania** : I know. You're welcome. Already forgotten.  
_

Paris stood with her mobile in her one hand and the wet towel in the other.

'That's the thing, Tristan. I don't wanna forget.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	24. Figure It Out As We Go

_Disclaimer_ _: Nothing's mine.  
_

 **A/N: This chapter started as something in my head and then turned out to be quite different from what I imagined. I think at some point it gained autonomy and the characters started writing themselves. And the result is below. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 _ **'You there? Over.'**_

 _'What?.'_

 _ **'Come on, you should be playing along...**_ **Blonde Hawk** _ **. Over.'**_

 _'Whatever.'_

 ** _'Such a spoilsport. Come on, Paris. Show me adventurous. Over.'_**

 _'You realize we're not even talking, right?'_

 ** _'I can't hear you. Over.'_**

 _'Of course you can't_ hear _me. We're texting. Texting on your iPhone is as far from double duplex as one gets.'_

 ** _'Irrelevant. Over.'_**

 _'Is this some leftover habit from your military experience? Are you deeply traumatized, do I need to enlist you in some PTSD help group?'_

 ** _'Blonde Hawk, you there? Over.'_**

 _'This is so ridiculous.'_

 ** _'Hot Stuff here. Blonde Hawk, are you there? Over.'_**

 _'Hot Stuff? Jeez. Full of yourself much?'_

 ** _'Blonde Hawk? Blonde Hawk! Over.'_**

 _'Ah, I'm so gonna regret this. I'm here. Over.'_

 ** _'Phew. Good Heavens, Blonde Hawk, I was beginning to worry some old boring lady had snatched your phone from your hands and started texting me instead of you. Over.'_**

 _'Ha-ha. Do you actually have something to tell or are you habitually wasting my time? Over.'_

 ** _'Something to tell, something to tell. Ah, yeah. There's been a change in the surgical schedule, you're supposed to be scrubbing in with me instead of Allinski. Over.'_**

 _'You find now to tell me? What time am I supposed to scrub in?'_

 ** _'Blonde Hawk... I can't hear you. You there?'_**

 _'I'll kill you. Kill. You. Over.'_

 ** _'See you in ten, Blonde Hawk. Scrub rooms. Bring your lucky scalpel.'_**

 _'I will. I'll use it to slice you. Over.' **  
**_

 ** _'Keep missing me. Over.'_**

Giving Tristan the green light to text her was so not a good idea.

 ** _'I have tons of ideas about Josh's birthday surprise party. We can discuss them over the unconscious patient once the anesthesia kicks in. Can't wait. Over.'_**

So not a good idea. Jeez.

* * *

'What's rolling?' Tristan plopped into the break room sofa next to Rory, throwing an arm over the comforters, stretching lazily as he drank from his smoothie.

Rory was sitting on the sofa, her eyes focused on some spot before her.

'I'm covering the ob-gyn ICU this week,' Rory uttered, sounding dispassionate.

'O-kay?'

Tristan adjusted so that he was half-facing her. She looked numb. He rose a brow.

'Not okay?'

Rory took a breath and opened her mouth to answer but then paused and exhaled instead.

'Not okay,' he nodded slowly, answering his own question.

He took another sip from his smoothie.

'Oh, I got it. You're covering the ob-gyn ICU. Where the complicated pregnancies and births end up. And you're pregnant. You're probably projecting, right?'

Rory gave him a look. He shrugged.

'Hey, I'm as sensitive as that. Plus I'm just coming out of a four-hour stab abdominal trauma. Teasing Paris for four hours can be pretty exhausting if also very rewarding.'

Rory tilted her head to the side and shook her head questioningly. Tristan rolled his eyes and sat up straighter into the sofa.

'Okay, so you're gonna make me play Dr Phil? Fine.'

He blew his cheeks and blinked a couple of times, looking for a way to approach the topic.

'Eh... I guess something spoke to you.'

He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his neck.

'You related to a patient maybe?'

Rory's face rearranged with apprehension.

'You did!' Tristan exclaimed then righted his expression. 'Sorry. This feels like 20 questions. Okay,' he exhaled and put his smoothie away on the table, leaning both elbows over his knees. 'So, something spoke to you. This patient... what's her name?' he lowered his head, looking to meet her eyes.

Rory let out a sigh and her hands fidgeted in her lap.

'Georgia.'

'Okay,' Tristan nodded slowly. 'Tell me about Georgia.'

'Nevermind,' Rory shook her head. 'It's stupid.'

'Hey, have you met me? I'm all for stupid. Hell, I'm the poster image for the Equal Rights For The Stupid movement. No judging.'

That managed to crack a smile from Rory.

She rested back into the sofa, folding her arms before her chest thoughtfully.

'Georgia had peripartum cardiomyopathy when she had her first child. This was three years ago. She didn't fully recover afterwards and was advised not to consider next pregnancies but she wanted to have more children so strongly, she decided to take the risk. Six months ago she gave birth to twins and her ejection fraction is twenty percent at best. She's currently waiting for a heart transplant.'

Tristan nodded, his expression serious.

'I've been talking to the woman for days now and she never once complained,' Rory let out a sigh and shook her head. 'She's thirty-two years old and waiting for a heart transplant with three children and a husband at home to wait for her and she's been thanking good heavens for the blessing of having three healthy children.'

Tristan scratched the back of his head and rested back with his arms before his chest, mirroring Rory's position.

'Sounds like a devoted mother,' he said thoughtfully.

'I can't imagine myself ever wanting to make such a sacrifice,' Rory admitted.

Tristan arched an eyebrow and turned his head to look at her.

'Do you feel like you should?'

'I mean... look at me,' she groaned. 'I'm hardly an example of a model mother-to-be.'

'What is a model mother-to-be?'

'Oh, you know.'

'Actually, I don't. Come on, tell me.'

'You know, those happy self-content women who love to put a palm over their protruded bellies and feel like their mission in life is to nurture a healthy chubby kid,' she said with timid disgust.

Tristan smirked.

'Well, there are those.'

'You're not very helpful,' Rory chastised.

He chuckled.

'But I _am_ trying.'

'Yay.'

'Your lack of enthusiasm is impressive,' he rose an eyebrow. 'Why are you comparing yourself in the first place?'

'I don't know. I just...' she shrugged with a groan.'I feel weird. Like I got drafted by the national synchronized swimming team and any moment now they're gonna find out I hardly know how to flap my hands in the water. I mean, what if I get eclampsia or pop an aneurysm giving birth? Or what if I'm totally incompetent as a mom, being indifferent to my own flesh and blood and falling into heavy postpartum depression not wanting to have anything to do with my child? Or what if the baby hates me because I'm not willing to get a heart transplant for my peripartum cardiomyopathy or donate my kidney to save my kid from renal hypoplasia? Or what if...'

'Whoa, whoa, whoa,' Tristan cut in. 'This is a lot of what ifs. Just,' he put a hand up, palm out. 'Give me a second.'

'But-'

'Uh-huh,' Tristan shook his head. 'Now we sit in amicable silence until I can scramble my brain off my skull.'

'But I-'

'Amicable silence,' he said, resting back and closing his eyes.

'What?.' Rory made a face. 'Oh whatever.'

They rested back for a while. Then Tristan broke the (hardly) amicable silence.

'You know someone else who got stuck in too much thinking and no action? Hamlet.'

'Hamlet.'

Really, Tristan?.

He shrugged.

'Being a parent is doing lots of action and trying not to mess things up completely. There's never an ideal way to do stuff right. You do what you feel is right and hope it turns out to be good enough.'

'Did you just compare parenthood to one of the most tormented tragedies written in human history? Boy, you sound like Paris.'

'All I'm saying is you better trust your instincts on this, too much thinking kills the ability to act. Do what you feel is right, if you stop and think about it every two seconds, it's only gonna get more and more confusing. You will make mistakes, but if you can forgive yourself when you mess up, you'll learn as you go.'

Tristan leaned forward over his knees, licking his lips thoughtfully.

'When I entered the papers for Aiden's adoption, it was the first thing that came to mind, an impulsive decision. I didn't stop to think about it, it was just something that felt right at the time. Later on, as the procedure took longer and longer to pull through, I started questioning the reasoning behind my decision. What was I doing, the reformed bad boy issuing papers to become the single parent of a narcotrafficker's child, a child who was going through some life-shattering trauma and was possibly gonna be targeted as next mob's attack victim. It was insane,' Tristan shook his head with a thoughtful smile.

'It was,' Rory nodded.

'It's still the best thing to ever happen to me.'

'Edifying,' Rory sighed.

Tristan's lips stretched into a smirk.

'What I mean is, I guess some things just happen because they happen. They don't come with a memo whether they'll change your life or not. Maybe your life can never get back to how it used to be before, the thing is you can't know that in advance. I think you're trying to control what happens with your future through those fears you rationalize, but it's only gonna make you feel more confused. You got a lot going for you right now, and even if you screw up majorly, I think you're still gonna have a lot going for you. So yeah...'

He hung his head between his shoulders before he pressed both palms against his knees and pushed himself up into a standing position.

Rory had only witnessed this transition once or twice, when he seemed so deep in thought that he forgot to pull off the playful exterior and that sadder, more vulnerable version of Tristan emerged. His blue eyes seemed layers deep, staring ahead but she suspected in fact they were staring backwards, reminiscing.

Rory looked at him. Really looked at him. And she thought he had a lost world beneath the layer he peeled off every now and then. The whole comic relief macho persona was built up carefully, consistently, almost religiously. But it was a distraction. Because beneath it, there was a man who had fought and lost, a man who was aware of how many fears he had buried beneath, and was set on keeping them deep down. She could see why Paris gravitated towards him. Tristan Dugray had a generous heart. He had the power to forgive. He faced his mistakes and instead of power-fighting his conscience, accepted what he could learn from them. He was far from perfect but he lived his life so that he didn't hurt people and did his best to love them as best as he could. And this was somehow admirable.

'You promise it will be okay even if I screw up?' she asked.

He smirked.

'I promise no such thing.'

'I can't begin to praise your support,' she said sarcastically.

'Hey, no one said you're gonna be alone when you screw up. You've got a bunch of dorks who're gonna watch from the front rows and step in to share any humiliating experience.'

'Yay?'

'What are friends for,' he gave her a wink and took his smoothie from the table before walking out of the break room with a brief salute.

* * *

'You're supposed to support me,' Rory paced to and fro in the kitchen of their rental, feeling restless. How dare he tell her whether or not she should be working?

'And what do you think I've been doing, playing polo?' Jess answered, matching her agitation.

She was being irrational. Crazy-stubborn-hormonal-Rory irrational.

'You're putting more fears into my head when I'm already scared enough!'

He lifted his hands in the air, stepping towards her in an attempt to reach out for her but she stepped back and he put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans with a sigh.

'I'm trying to take you away from an environment that feeds those fears,' he insisted.

'You're stopping me from facing those fears, that's what you're doing!'

'Just listen to yourself,' he shook his head. 'You've been attending to some very ill pregnant women, freaking out for days. You're hurting yourself and I'm not gonna sit back and watch by.'

'I was doing just fine when you weren't trying to make my choices for me suggesting I should take some time off.'

'I'm done watching idly, it's high time I intervene.'

'No it's not.'

'Jeez, Rory. Just look at you, you're in need of help and you're stubbornly declining it.'

'Do you think I'll make a choice that will endanger the baby, is that why you're so concerned?'

'Don't turn it around like this,' Jess exhaled with frustration. 'This is not a war, Rory. It's not a competition of who makes the right decision. I'm in this as much as you are. We're making those decisions together.'

'Oh yeah? Because it's your body that's ticking like a goddamn bomb, changing with every minute, being pushed to its limits.'

Jess inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to pace his frustration.

'Rory, you're not a ticking bomb, you're a healthy woman who's going through with her normal pregnancy.'

'Well so was Georgia.'

'Who is Georgia?'

'That's the thing, you don't understand.'

'How can I understand if you won't talk to me?'

'I'm trying to tell you I'm okay but you won't listen.'

He hung his head back, letting a breath out slowly. God help him, he was trying to be patient but her stubbornness was eating on his nerves.

'Will you cut the fake bravado and tell me what's going on?'

'I'm just... tired,' she folded her arms before her chest, chewing on her lower lip. She was far from tired. She was freaking out and she wouldn't even talk to him about what made her feel this way.

Jess wet his lips and made a step towards her.

'That's exactly why I want you to get some rest and not be around every complicated pregnancy case in a two thousand miles radius. Please, Rory. Let me take care of you.'

'Me or the baby?' she asked defiantly.

'Both.'

 _But especially you. Can't you see that without you, I have nothing?_

Jess ran both hands through his already messy hair.

'I'm not gonna apologize for looking out for you. Please believe me when I say that I've been worried about you. Let me take care of you. Just... dammit, just let me. Please.'

Rory looked up at him, her blue eyes rapidly welling up.

'I'm scared,' she admitted quietly.

His whole posture deflated and he closed the distance between them with two wide strides. He pulled her in for a hug, gathering her in his arms, her head pressed into his chest.

'I know. But it's gonna be okay. Just try and trust me on this okay?'

She sniffed, locking both of her arms around his waist, relaxing into his hold.

'Everything's changing.'

He stroked her hair, resting his chin on top of her head, tucking her more into him.

'I know.'

'I'm not a selfless person,' she said quietly. 'I'm not one of those women who waited their whole life to fill the role of a mother.'

'Okay.'

'I don't know if I'll be enough,' she admitted in a small voice, hardly above a whisper.

'Together we're gonna rock this parenthood thing,' he promised.

'How do you know?'

'Because we'll figure it out as we go. We'll forgive each other when it's harder than we expected and we'll learn from our mistakes.'

'I love you more than anything,' she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

'More than coffee?' he asked in playful disbelief.

She smacked her fist against his chest, shaking with something between a sob and a laugh.

'Only a tad more.'

'That's... encouraging,' he smirked. 'See? Piece of cake. Think about the depths of love we'll teach our kid. We'll be cool like that.'

She held onto him tighter.

'Okay.'

He let out a relieved sigh, pressing his lips into her hair.

'Good girl.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	25. Un Amore Grande

_Disclaimer_ _: Everything's mine. Ha. I wish._

 ** _A/N: This chapter approaches some sensitive topics like sexual orientation and homophobia. By no means does it aim to offend anyone in any way or imply anything else than exploring the circumstances of the characters and their stories._**

* * *

 ** _'If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.'_**

 _— Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian_

* * *

'Honey, I'm home!' Tristan called from the doorway, walking into Paris' apartment. 'Thanks for picking Aiden from the Aquarium, I would've never made it. Peterson got caught up in some last temporary Chief meetings and I had to fill up for him for a femoropoliteal bypass,' Tristan continued, kicking his shoes in the hallway. 'Traffic was disastrous, a disabled mini-van got stuck between 7th and 24th and the tow truck took ages to come. If the new Chief isn't up until Friday, there's a pretty good chance I'm gonna be behind on the surgical schedule again and will have to grovel my way with extensive dried papaya supplies so that you take Aiden from the Natural History Mu... What were you doing?'

Tristan stopped midway in Paris' living room, giving her a suspicious look, his half-undressed jacket hanging off one shoulder.

Paris looked up from the bowl she had been hovering over.

'Nothing,' she said a little too fast.

Tristan tilted his head to the side.

'Doesn't look like nothing.'

'Well I am cooking,' Paris shrugged, getting back to her seemingly preoccupying task of cutting products and adding them into the bowl.

'Come on, tell me,' Tristan smirked conspiratorially. 'Is it something weird? Oh, I love weird,' he rubbed his hands in anticipation.

'You look creepily excited.'

'I know turned on when I see turned on,' he wiggled his eyebrows.

'I'm making tomato with mozzarella salad. Hardly PG 13 content.'

'Come on,' he stepped closer to her, putting both of his hands into the pockets of his chinos. With a sly smirk over his lips, he leaned forward to whisper into her ear. 'Hit me with it. How inappropriate can it be?'

Paris let out a frustrated groan. A pause. Then,

'I like the feeling of mozzarella okay?'

'Uh?'

'The feeling when I touch the texture. Or...' her ears were burning, a fierce red tinge coloring her cheeks too. 'Or when I squeeze it.'

'You...' Tristan narrowed his eyes, trying to process the new information. 'squeeze mozzarella?'

Paris shrugged, her jaw working, obviously embarrassed.

'Sometimes.'

Tristan blinked. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting him to crack into laughter any second. He didn't, so she opened one eye.

'I wanna try it,' he said.

'Uh?'

'I wanna squeeze mozzarella,' Tristan repeated with surprising determination. He looked... _excited_.

Jeez.

No. Really.

Jeez.

'Come on, gimme,' he wiggled his fingers before her.

Once she stepped away, making room for him to approach the counter, he was all nervous excitement. He washed his hands in the sink and bit a lip, stepping before her.

'It's genius,' Tristan uttered with awe once his fingers closed around the cheese. 'It's...' he squeezed again, shaking his head in disbelief 'It's cathartic. I love it.'

Paris shook her head with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief.

Jeez indeed.

'You're such a dork, Dugray.'

* * *

'Is it Capricorn?'

Jess continued tending to the wound, cutting the surgical suture with a sterile blade.

'Scorpio?'

Jess paused for a second to give the patient a look, arching an eyebrow before he resumed cutting the suture off.

'You aren't big on communication, are you, guapo?' the woman asked with a heavy Spanish accent.

Jess let out a suppressed sigh and finished his work on the wound, disinfecting and dressing it with a sterile pad. The faster he finished with the Spanish gypsy woman, the sooner he would be out of here. Being hit on by elderly ladies was hardly his favorite pastime, and somehow he had a growing suspicion he acted like a magnet for those. Jess started filling in the patient's papers.

The curtain slid open.

'I have an emergency,' Tristan walked into the ER cubicle, his appearance uncharacteristically disheveled.

'Go have it somewhere else,' Jess answered without even looking up from the patient's papers.

'I need someone with a cruel heart and a lot of reading experience to tell me what they think.'

'About you? Has your Beautymeter finally gone overdrive?'

'About a book.'

Jess' brows flew up in surprise.

'You read a book?'

'No,' Tristan frowned. 'Aiden did.'

'Pfew. I thought the world as we know it has come to an end. Now, if you excuse me,' Jess made an emphatic wave with his hand.

'Cancer!' the woman exclaimed.

'Oh,' Tristan scrunched his nose. 'Sorry to hear that.'

'Not the disease, bello' the patient shook her head. 'This chico's zodiac sign,' she pointed towards Jess. Then she nodded at Tristan. 'And you must be Gemini.'

'How does she...' Tristan pointed between Jess and the patient.

'My name is Nina, dear. Professional fortune-teller. I _know_.'

Tristan blinked, unsure of what to say.

'Come visit me sometime, I'll do some free tarot card reading for you, bello,' she gave Tristan a wink.

Then she turned back to Jess.

'And you,' she pointed at him, 'you about to fall in love with another chica, amigo. Si,' she nodded her head, as if debating it with herself. 'Un amore grande,' she added dreamily.

'See?' Jess pointed towards the woman. 'That's exactly why I'm outta here.'

He left the ER cubicle, taking the patient's papers with him to finish outside. Tristan shrugged apologetically and left too.

* * *

'I got an emergency.'

'You out of words to praise your own body so you come looking for someone with a vocabulary ten-fold the span of yours?' Paris rested back in the break room sofa, giving him a questioning look.

Tristan's lips didn't even twitch with a smile. He was pure concern. That was new.

'It's about Aiden,' he said.

Paris' expression momentarily turned serious. She sat up unfolding her arms and gave him a nod.

'Spill.'

'I found him reading a book.'

Paris' brows arched into thin bows over her eyes.

'O-kay?'

Tristan took his backpack off his shoulder and took a book out, placing it on the table.

She took the book into her hands to look over.

 _'_ Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe,' she read the title.

'It's... it's about two boys.'

He looked incredibly awkward. Fidgety. Agitated. Awkward Tristan looked so out of place.

'O-kay?' she said.

Tristan ran a hand through his hair.

'I never thought my lifestyle affected him like this. I mean, I've never _flaunted_ it.'

He put both hands on his hips and puffed his cheeks.

'Who am I kidding,' he shook his head with a bitter smile, 'he's a smart boy and I've never particularly hidden the fact that I get some meaningless sex to scratch an itch and that's as far as it gets. No strings attached, no hard feelings. No feelings at all, if possible. Who knows, maybe I've shaken his interest in the depths of a man-woman relationship. I've never talked to him about sexual stuff, but I never thought it was the time. I mean, he's ten. I just never thought the time had come to-'

'Dugray,' Paris interrupted his ramble raising a hand, palm up. 'What are you talking about?'

'I think those boys kiss in the book.'

'Each other?'

'Of course they kiss each other, why do you think I'd mention it?'

'So, let's get this clear,' Paris rose a finger, narrowing her eyes in thought, 'You found your son with a book with supposedly homosexual content and you're freaking out because... you're opposed to him potentially being gay?'

'No!... Yes. I don't know! Do you think he's gay? Or is it too early to say?'

Paris blinked, watching Tristan pace around the room. He was a mess. A fussy, scrambling mess. She hadn't seen him like this. He was usually pretty cool about... well, about everything. About parenting he usually stayed put, decisions seemingly coming so easy to him.

'Do you consider yourself a homophobe?' she asked, her question void of judgement.

'I... don't think so.'

'Then why are you so alarmed that your son reads a book with boys who may or may not be kissing in it?'

'Are you serious?' Tristan looked up.

'Why wouldn't I be serious?'

Paris let out a sigh at Tristan's perplexed look.

'If you had found him watching heterosexual porn, or caught him with a nudie magazine, would it be any different?'

Tristan blinked, obviously at a loss. He hadn't really asked himself.

'I... I don't know.'

'Let me summarize,' Paris folded her arms before her chest. 'You're terrified to discuss anything of the sexual nature with your son, especially if it includes sexual orientation issues.'

Tristan let out a deep sigh and plopped down into an armchair, running both hands through his hair.

'What am I gonna do?'

'You can start by giving me an afternoon to go through that book,' she tilted her head to the book he'd left on the table before her. 'I'll read it as a non-biased third party and recap it for you afterwards. You can use the time to indulge into some birds and bees literature because you obviously suck at it.'

Tristan looked up at her hopefully, the thought of objecting to sucking at anything sex-related obviously never crossing his mind.

'You're gonna help me?'

Paris sighed, trying to muster up all her patience,

'Now leave,' she waved her hand, dismissing him 'so I can read.'

As he made no move to exit the room, she looked up questioningly.

'Why are you still here?'

'Sorry,' Tristan sobered up, standing up from the armchair with new-found energy. 'Thank you. Thank you so much, Paris.'

* * *

'Worst ER shift ever,' Jess sat down next to Rory with a plop. 'I had Esmeralda fortune tell me about my impending falling in love with another woman. Then Duncan MacLeod had to tell me all about his prosthatic hyperplasia.'

He rested his head back on the break room sofa and groaned.

'Why can't we sedate patients when they're boring?'

Rory didn't reply and he turned to look at her.

'Everything all right?' he asked, taking in her distant expression.

She turned to look at him too, her eyes sparkling with a glint of apprehensive excitement.

'I had some cramps today,' she uttered.

Jess sat up immediately, his whole body straining in alarm. Why didn't she call him? Was she okay? He couldn't get out a single sound, his eyes searching her desperately, trying to register if anything looked different. Under the loose scrubs her otherwise slightly rounded belly couldn't be seen anyway. No blood stains marred the blue material. He reminded himself to breathe.

'Breathe,' he heard Rory's voice through a fog of apprehension and rushing thoughts. 'Jess, breathe, everything's okay.'

Her hand found his shoulder and squeezed, making him focus back on her face.

'It turned out sometimes cramps were to be expected as the uterus grows larger so fast. However, I had a sonography just in case.'

She took a sonographic picture out of her pocket and gave it to him.

'Dr Rosenberg wasn't a hundred percent sure, but we're probably gonna have a girl.'

Jess' eyes were probably wide because Rory let out a smile.

'Esmeralda told you right,' she said. 'Be ready to fall in love with a much younger woman.'

 _Un amore grande._

No shit.

* * *

'Hey.'

'Hey,' Tristan walked in and looked around, running a hand through his hair. He looked... awkward. Awkward Tristan continued to look incredibly unnatural and out of place.

Paris noticed his wandering look.

'Come in,' she waved with a nod of her head. 'He's with Josh, reading him a bedtime story,' she added as she studied the way Tristan's look blanked.

'Oh,' he mumbled, sobering up and stepping into the hallway. 'Okay.'

Awkwardness, meet Tristan. Tristan, this is what awkward feels like. Big time.

Tristan chewed on his lower lip and pried his shoes off his feet.

'Did you run here?' Paris tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes.

He gave her a surprised look, like he hadn't realized he had jogged on the way to her apartment.

'You're wearing your running gear,' Paris nodded towards his clothing. He was clad in a winter hoodie, flash vest and trackpants.

Tristan let out a breath as he stepped into the living room.

'It's a book about coming of age,' Paris folded her arms before her chest, leaning against the doorframe. 'A pretty good one, I have to say.'

Tristan turned back, his eyes flashing with hope.

'So... no boy kissing?'

'Oh, they do kiss. But I don't think that's the highlight of the book. At all.'

Paris studied Tristan's expression carefully.

'Your sour expression has nothing to do with the lack of spoiler alert, does it?' she asked wisely. He didn't answer. She wasn't sure he even registered her smartass comment.

'Have you thought about the fact that you might be a homophobe?' she asked then.

Tristan looked up, stunned.

'So,' she asked thoughtfully, 'would you be opposed if I kissed some chick full mouth? Because I have. I kissed Rory once.'

Tristan blinked, clearly flustered, then sobered up, gaining some of his attitude back.

'Are you offering a repeat?' he gave her a doubtful look.

'Okay then,' Paris waved her hand, as if dismissing her previous question, 'Have you thought about the fact that you're uncomfortable with boys kissing boys?'

Tristan cringed before he could stop himself.

'Because you are', Paris said soberly. 'A lot.'

Tristan opened his mouth to object and then closed it, shaking his head as if in disbelief. He ran both of his hands through his hair and locked his fingers at his nape.

'Do you wanna talk about it?' Paris asked, standing in her place by the doorframe, watching as he paced around her living room.

He gave her an incredulous look.

'About not wanting to have anything to do with two men exchanging body fluids? Hell, no.'

'Okay.'

He hung his head back, stopping in his track.

'Do you think Aiden...?'

'No, I don't think so.'

Tristan seemed to be breathing more easily.

'I don't think he's even considering his sexual orientation yet. I think the question is, if he was, would that be a problem?'

Tristan turned to give her a pointed look. The blue of his eyes looked troubled.

'Aren't we supposed to love our kids, no matter what?' he asked.

He looked a little angry. Paris knew him enough to know that he was angry with himself. Confused with his own feelings about the possibility of his son turning out to be different from what he'd ever imagined he expected. Weren't parents supposed to embrace their kids in all their complexity, without trying to fit them into a stereotype?

'Theoretically, yeah,' Paris shrugged. 'But in reality...' she shrugged, walking over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. 'Here,' she tossed it over to Tristan who caught it in the air, if even with a slight delay. 'Actually, you look like you need a scotch. I have some in the cabinet. No? Okay,' she shrugged.

Tristan sat down on the sofa, his movements numb, mechanical. He opened the water bottle and drank, finishing it in a couple of big gulps.

When he was finished, he screwed the cap back on and started tossing the bottle between his hands nervously, leaning forward over his knees.

'I love Aiden,' he admitted somberly. 'I love him so much, I can't imagine anything changing my love for him.'

Paris listened, resting her elbows over the kitchen counter.

'I know most of the time, I'm a good dad. I'm trying to be this cool dad who is his son's superhero but also his friend.'

He hung his head between his shoulders.

'However, sometimes I feel like I'm not giving him the best example a man can get.'

'Because you're a man slut?' Paris asked helpfully.

Tristan gave her a look, but then his mouth cracked with the start of a smirk.

'If you're diligent on putting it that way.'

He scratched the back of his head.

'I don't know how to talk about the birds and bees, Paris,' he sighed. 'I...' he licked a lip and looked at the empty water bottle in his hands, 'I don't come from a stable family model and have no clue as to what one is supposed to comprise.'

'Well,' Paris let out a small knowing smile, 'neither do I.'

Tristan shook his head with a huff.

'Are you kidding me? You're the epitome of stable. You're a rock, Paris. You know right from wrong and have the inner moral compass thing, you're giving Josh a role model.'

'And you're not?' Paris asked.

Tristan chuckled, shaking his head.

'I'm skimming through life, gliding over the surface. I'm fucking different women like it means nothing because it doesn't. It doesn't have to mean anything so I keep it that way. This...' he ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the ends, 'This is not what I want for Aiden.'

Paris studied him for a while, keeping silent. Then asked,

'Do you think that if Aiden wants to know what kissing a boy feels like, he'll come clean and say it, be honest about it?'

Tristan's breath caught for a moment before he nodded, letting it out slowly.

'Yeah,' he said quietly. 'I think he would.'

Paris nodded too.

'Yeah. So do I.'

She watched Tristan as he stared at the bottle in his hands.

'Do you think he would do this, be honest about something like this, if he'd stayed with his birth parents?'

Tristan looked up.

'What?'

Paris shrugged.

'Do you think he would be okay with himself, whatever that comprises, if he didn't have your influence into his life?' she elaborated.

Tristan blinked.

'I... I don't know.'

'I think you do,' Paris smiled and rounded the kitchen counter, heading for Josh's room up the stairs. Tristan followed her, frowning a little at the abrupt change in the conversation.

As they reached Josh's door, Paris stopped, making him a sign to keep silent.

Aiden's voice, calm and eloquent, came from the inside of the room.

'Illustrations by Mathias Presby. This guy, Mathias, he was the best. His father was a painter. During the war their family was so poor Mathias had to go with his father painting people's houses. Once he painted a wall with the faces of all his favorite book characters. As the owner of the house saw the wall, Mathias' father swore they were gonna repaint the wall immediately, but the other man refused to have it touched. He said Mathias was a uniquely talented boy and had to be granted the freedom to paint. The man whose house they were painting was the head of the town press these days and promised to help Mathias get into an art school. So that's how Mathias left his home town in order to go to Paris and study to be an artist. Once he arrived in Paris, he met...'

Tristan breathed out a low chuckle, recognizing his own habit to tell imaginary stories about the staff that made a book rather than reading the original book itself. It had started in Turkey, when he had only two books of children's stories he had found that were in English. He was still fighting with Turkish grammar at the time, and Aiden was a six years old boy who was scared out of his mind, so Tristan needed to find ways to take the kid's mind off reality. Once they had gone through the two books for like the umpteenth time, Tristan started to invent stories about random people, like the guy who worked at the bookshop, or that lady who edited the final print of the book. It was a cop out to keep Aiden interested, but it rubbed on him and once they were granted with access to more books, Aiden kept asking Tristan to tell him 'those other stories'. It had obviously left a lasting imprint, because now Aiden was doing the same thing for Josh.

'You did good,' Paris whispered, turning to look at Tristan.

He had created a boy who was as good and generous as he was.

She patted his shouder and stepped away, leaving him alone in the corridor, Aiden's melodic voice carrying through the wooden door.

* * *

 **TBC**


	26. Transcendent

_Disclaimer_ _: Nothing's mine. Yet.  
_

* * *

'Guess who the new Chief of Surgery is.'

'Who.' Paris asked while inspecting the X-ray image in her hands, holding it against the light coming from the exam room window. She didn't show the fervor Rory would expect her friend to show about matters concerning hospital hierarchy.

Rory made a pause, waiting for Paris to move her look from the X-ray back to her.

'Shefield,' Rory announced as their gazes met.

Paris' eyes narrowed.

' _The_ Shefield?'

Rory nodded.

'The one and only.'

'Shit.'

'Double that.'

'How?'

'Seems like Chief Peterson had a couple of names in mind for next Chief and she was one of the outlined. He always had an appreciation for successful women in medicine.'

He did. He had asked Paris to be next Chief. She had declined. Logically, he had moved on to the next person he had in mind.

'Why did she accept?' Paris narrowed her eyes.

Wasn't Shefield some kind of overseas nomad surgeon, breaking records for hitting it off with badass procedures all over the world? She was like some mythical creature, a legend - doing some breakthrough surgery and then disappearing to take some time off on a secluded exotic island, surrounded by luxury and style, her exorbitant lifestyle surrounded by an air of mystery. For such a person to take on an administrative position in a hospital, even if the position was prestigious and well paid, seemed unlikely.

'Well, ' _St Morrison_ ' is one of the best hospitals in the area,' Rory reasoned, 'and being Chief is always a good thing to have in your resume-'

'She came for Tristan,' Paris cut in.

'She totally came for Tristan.' Rory sighed with relief, seeing they were on the same page.

Paris had always been one to jump right onto it, so at least there was no need to tiptoe around the big elephant in the room.

'Do you think he's still interested?' Paris asked after a moment's thought.

'What? In Shefield? I don't know,' Rory stirred her coffee thoughtfully, 'isn't that water under the bridge - Tristan definitely gave her the cold shoulder last time when she was here consulting Jess. I'm positive she was ready to jump his bones then, but somehow he managed to stay away from her grasp. She's not above groping younger men in public. The woman is a man-eater and she's onto get Tristan.'

'Yeah,' Paris nodded thoughtfully. 'I hope the dumbass stays away from her.'

Rory smirked above her decaf, looking at Paris with a look that said there was no bulshitting her.

'It's not like that,' Paris shook her head. 'I'm done offering him to spread benefits of our friendship all over the place. I just... I guess if he can keep it in his pants with one person, I'd rather that be her.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Not because of me,' Paris rolled her eyes. 'Because of him. I think she's bad influence. There's something... vile about her. Don't get me wrong, coming from one cutthroat bitch for another, this is as honest as it gets. She's some badass surgeon, but as a person she seriously sucks.'

'Are you kidding me? She's some energy vampire. So, what are you gonna do?'

Paris' expression scowled slightly.

'About Shefield?'

'About the population problems of the Marsh mongoose, but now that you mention Shefield, her too.'

Paris rested back with her best innocent expression.

'Nothing,' she shrugged.

Rory rise a skeptical brow.

'Really.'

'Unless of course she steps on the wrong foot. Then I'll crush her.'

Rory grinned, obviously satisfied with the answer.

'Cheers to that,' she rose the cup of decaf in both hands.

'Cheers,' Paris took her own coffee from the nightstand by the empty hospital bed.

Suddenly Rory looked up, putting a hand over her stomach, her expression struck.

'Hey,' Paris leaned towards Rory, her brows furrowed in concern. 'You okay?'

'I felt her move,' Rory uttered, her eyes wide with awe. 'I felt her move,' Rory repeated, still in shock.

* * *

'Who likes good news?' Paris asked as she sat down at Tristan and Helen's table in the cafeteria.

Both looked up from their lunch, eyeing her questioningly.

'Anyone?' Paris asked. 'Nobody. Good, because I have none. Beatrice Shefield is stepping in as new Chief of Surgery. Keep it in your pants,' she turned a sharp look towards Tristan, pointing a forefinger towards his lap, making him choke on a chunk of cucumber. 'Like a bandaid,' she nodded to herself. 'News delivered, message received. Now if you excuse me,' she stood up under her friends' puzzled gazes. 'Have a less traumatic afternoon, I'm scrubbing in for an anal abscess resection. Isn't life just great?'

With that, Paris left the cafeteria with two wide-eyed Tristan and Helen staring behind her.

'What was that?' Helen asked, blinking slowly.

'I think it was Paris delivering bad news,' Tristan replied blankly.

For a moment Helen looked like she felt bad for Tristan. But then she beamed,

'Oh, it's gonna get so interesting! I just love all the angst and drama!' she rubbed her palms together, looking like a maniac.

Tristan let his forehead hit his arms that were folded over the table, suppressing a groan.

* * *

She found him in the conference room, sitting at the long desk with a couple of textbooks lying open before him.

'Hey,' Rory greeted.

Jess looked up, tilting his head to the side.

'Hey.'

For a moment they stood, silently regarding each other.

He didn't say he was doing research on a case. She didn't blurt out the first thing that came to mind either. She had been in such a rush to tell him she felt the baby move, but now that she was standing before him, she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in weeks. And it struck her how much she had missed. There were dozens of details about him, details that had become a constant since she found out about the pregnancy. Details she had been ignoring for far too long.

He looked tired. Underslept. For the last couple of months he wore his stoic concern well, not making a big deal about it. He carried his suppressed worry around without saying a word. He had been quiet, a little distant. Almost as when she had first met him, more than four years ago. Only this time, his silence stemmed out of love. She knew it. She felt it, the way his eyes would bore into her profile when she wasn't looking. The way his gaze would linger over her belly, a quiet longing in the brown depths of his eyes, always subdued, always unvoiced. For months Jess had been putting his own emotions about this pregnancy to the side, waiting for Rory to come to terms with the repercussions of it. Being the gentleman he was, he always put her first. Let her be the first to get her fears out, let her be the first to figure out how she was feeling about this. The thing was, she was coming to terms with their new situation. Much more than that - she felt a growing conviction that she was right where she was supposed to be, and this feeling got stronger and stronger with each passing day. However, from Jess' perspective, she felt like the whole process of warming up to the news had been cruel to him. Her adaptation process had taken a toll on him and she felt a pang of guilt.

He watched her, the wariness in his features replaced by concern.

'Are you okay?' he asked, his voice gravelly.

Rory bit on her lip, finding the confirmation to her previous musings. His reaction was the only logical response to her behavior. She hadn't been panicky about the pregnancy after those first couple of times, but she hadn't been anywhere near ecstatic either. She hadn't given him anything else to work with, and she could see how it had affected him.

She made a couple of steps to get by his side and took one of his hands in hers, moving to sit in his lap with her feet dangling to one side of his. She intertwined their fingers together, holding his hand in her lap. She could feel him holding his breath. She had put this there. The quiet worry, the constant anticipation of oncoming obstacles. Like he didn't have the right to feel happy about this baby. Like his only job was to take care of her and keep her and the baby safe. Mainly from herself. He was practically living like his only mission in life was to keep her together. This had to stop. He had a voice too. And it deserved to be heard. He had just as much right to feel whatever he felt and be understood in doing so. His own inner workings were just as worthy of being acknowledged as hers were, and she just now fully realized how much both of them had neglected his own voice in this pregnancy.

She looked up at him, turning her head to the side, meeting his eyes square.

'Have you got any idea how happy you make me?' she asked quietly, feeling his body still in the barest of cringes. He hadn't expected her to say that, wasn't prepared for the rush of joy her sincere words brought on. She made a mental note to say them every day.

Rory let out a small sigh and smiled up at him, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek.

'I know it has been especially hard for you lately,' she started and put a forefinger before his mouth to silence the protest she knew was coming. 'And I had my reasons to have the fears I had, I'm not about to neglect those,' she continued gently. 'You know that where I found myself lately isn't something I ever anticipated,' she said calmly, noting the white line between his pressed lips, the tick in his cheek. God, he had been a ticking bomb and she hadn't done anything about it for months. She took a breath in and shook the regret away. She wasn't about to let any guilt trips delay what she needed to get out.

'I found myself in an unexpected situation,' she continued, 'and I've had more than my fair share of panic about it. However,' she paused, her eyes roaming his face. His loving, worried face. 'I've been finding myself and our current situation more and more blissful, and as I come to terms with my fears about becoming a mother, there is a lot of joyful anticipation coming along. I am so happy to have you by my side, and along with my worries, I'm starting to feel so much anticipation about meeting this daughter of ours, and thanks to your patient, everpresent love, I'll be given the chance to. I have come to realize how hard it has been for you lately, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. I want you to know that you're granted the right to have your own fears and freak out every once in a while. I want you to feel free to share your worries and joy with me and keep in mind that I'm solid. I may not have looked like it lately, but thanks to you I'm solid again and I'm convinced more than ever that we're gonna figure this out. We just need a little more time until it looks more like we've got a grasp on things, but we do.'

She pressed her palm to the side of his face and leaned to put her lips against his forehead, smoothing the crease of concern that had been residing there for what seemed like an eternity.

'I love you, Jess Mariano,' she whispered. 'And I'm starting to fall in love with the life we created together.'

She felt him relax against her. His whole body seemed to let a breath out, the strain in his muscles giving way to relief. And he rested his forehead against her clavicle, his breath warm against her chest as she stroked his head, locking both hands around him.

'She moved today,' Rory said in his hair. 'I felt her move and it was the slightest, most transcendent feeling I have felt in my entire life. And I feel eternally grateful for the fact that you brought me to this moment in my life where I can feel this.'

They held onto each other, the late February sun setting down outside St Morrison, throwing long shadows into the conference room as shadows seemed to lift off the pair wrapped up into a tight hug.

* * *

 **TBC**


	27. Big Trouble

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: SPECIAL THANKS to Nancy for being there every step of the way. Your feedback is very welcome and highly appreciated, dear! :)**

* * *

 **CHAPTER WARNING: I'm not sure if this chapter contains any actual M material (video backup for music industry makes mature content so hard to discern these days... \"o"/ but just in case - be warned.**

* * *

'Now show me your resting bitch face.'

'My what?.'

'See?' Paris turned towards Rory, shaking her head somberly. 'He has no chance. Zero. Nada.'

'Hey!' Tristan put a palm up. 'I'm no one's bitch,' he said, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the statement.

'I know, pookie,' Paris sighed in mock sympathetic tone. 'We just need to make it look more like it. Now,' she clapped her hands, getting back to her clipped business tone, 'Resting bitch face please.'

Tristan groaned, dropping his head into his palms.

'How do you expect us to coach you if you don't cooperate?' Paris asked, indignation making way into her voice.

Tristan peeked an eye up above his palms, trying to convey the pointlessness of this convention through his exasperated look.

'Okay then,' Paris stood straighter, putting her hands on her hips. 'Let's try something else. Rory, come on to him.'

'What?' both Rory and Tristan slanted their heads to the side.

'She's pregnant,' Tristan blinked, pointing at Rory.

'Thank you for acknowledging the obvious,' Paris quipped.

'I don't understand,' Rory reasoned, looking intrigued, 'Am I supposed to accuse him of being the father?'

'Only if you feel like it,' Paris shrugged. 'I give you permission to improvise. Use your imagination.'

'But... she's pregnant,' Tristan repeated, still stuck a couple of sentences back in the conversation.

'Your point being?' Paris tipped her chin up. 'Are you implying that pregnant women have no sexual appeal? Because I can assure you that a pregnant woman's pheromones-'

'Don't answer this,' Rory mouth-whispered, shaking her head no.

'I'm not answering this,' Tristan said quickly.

'Okay then,' Paris narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Let's skip to the core question. When is the last time you hooked up?'

Rory's ' _Don't answer that either!_ ' and Tristan's ' _What the...?._ ' came out almost simultaneously.

'Okay, okay,' Paris rolled her eyes. 'Sheesh.' Then she stared him down. 'Dugray,' she sighed, 'you leave me no other choice.'

'Oh, no,' Tristan groaned - quietly, minding not to piss Paris off any more than necessary, because this usually resulted in doubling her stubbornness. He was afraid to know her next idea.

'I'll be a man-eater fixing you with my Lucy Liu vixen staredown and you'll be a horny postpubescent lightweight trying his best to be insusceptible to my femme fatale allure. It will be a reenactment of your interaction with Shefield.'

'Excuse me?' Tristan asked.

'Okay, okay, horny postpubescent _middleweight_. You MMA fighters and your easily bruised ego.'

Tristan opened his mouth to protest but Paris rose her hand, palm out,

'Whatever.'

He closed his mouth, following the natural urge to not get into arguments he was bound to lose.

When Paris started walking towards him slowly, crossing one leg before the other and circling her hips unnaturally, he narrowed his eyes in confusion, sitting further back into the armchair.

'What are you doing?' he asked, straightening his back.

'That's my swagger,' Paris narrowed her eyes back, shooting daggers. 'Shut up and rest so I can come onto you.'

Tristan arched an eyebrow, throwing a sideways glance towards Rory who was sitting on the break room sofa and shrugged helplessly.

Paris approached the place where his feet were crossed at the ankles and inserted one of her legs between his knees, prompting him to make room for her. The look in his eyes when she lowered herself to sit on his thigh and threw an arm around his shoulders was hesitating between amused and confused.

He had opened his mouth to ask what the hell, but she put a forefinger before his mouth, pressing it against his lower lip and fixing him with what was probably supposed to be her lustful gaze. Outrageous. Completely outrageous.

'Now tell me, cowboy,' she said in a low, sultry voice.

Tristan was on the verge of cracking up when he felt her hand move up his leg to the inside of his thigh, squeezing lightly as she reached the base of his leg.

Tristan choked on a breath.

'Has my big,' she pressed her palm against his thigh, ' _big_ boy missed me?' she asked, squeezing again, leaning into him to brush her nose against his ear. 'You smell so good,' she uttered on an exhale. 'You smell like sin. Take me out of here and sin with me, Tristan.'

Paris lifted her hands so that she held his face between her palms and drew back to face him. Their mouths were inches apart when she met his gaze, sensual and transfixed. His palms had unconsciously moved to her hips and his mouth was slightly agape, ready to be engaged in action.

'I knew it!' Paris exclaimed, standing from his leg abruptly, shaking her head in disbelief. 'I can't believe how easy it is to corrupt you!' she huffed, pacing to and fro before him as Tristan blinked, slowly sobering.

'Wha...' he cleared his throat. 'What?' he asked, his voice scratchy.

'You're a ticking bomb, a loose trigger, a feeble bee swamped in a honey jar. It's easier to trick you than a kid in a candy store,' Paris fumed. 'You'll be like putty in her hands, Dugray. I don't know if even I will be able to beat the horny out of you,' she concluded solemnly.

No shit.

Tristan looked blankly, a deer in the headlights who just realized he was so screwed.

'You're so screwed,' Paris sighed.

This he was. He was in for some big trouble. Although for reasons much different from what Paris alluded to.

* * *

'Hey.'

Paris turned as she heard the familiar voice, leaving the patient's files on the nurse's station counter.

'Matt,' she narrowed her eyes in confusion. 'What are you doing here?'

Matt Henderson shrugged, looking a bit shy, but charmingly so. Like a man who was used to leading but found himself being led.

'I know we agreed we'd call each other some time,' he handed her a takeaway coffee cup. She eyed it curiously. Cappuccino. Really? Had he pegged her for a cappuccino type of woman?

Matt seemed to pick on her reaction as he took a step closer.

'I didn't know what you liked, so I asked the barista downstairs for the best they had.'

Matt reached for her hand and made still a step closer, aligning them so that their toes were practically touching. He traced his thumb over her hand, watching her for a reaction.

'I wanna see you again,' he smiled, a hint of mischief lingering in his eyes. 'Maybe stay for coffee in the morning this time? I promise to make it worth it.'

Stay the night was what he actually meant, and he wasn't trying to cover it. It was an open invitation. The guy was actually putting himself out there, despite her efforts to not tag him along and bail on him after their last date a couple of weeks ago. He had waited for her to call again and when she hadn't, he did.

The thing was, dating Matt Henderson had been fine. More than fine, actually. He was showing some healthy interest in her personality and more than healthy interest in her body, which wasn't unwelcome. Paris had been a single woman for almost two years now and it got lonely sometimes. She wasn't above some casual dating, and Matt had been on board with the idea. Having him bring her coffee at work, however was something new. Paris hadn't figured out how she felt about that yet. Him showing up here was a statement. It said, I want more than casual rolling in the sheets with you. Or maybe she was simply delusional.

'Okay,' he stepped back with a small nod to himself. 'I guess that's my cue to leave.'

He bit onto his lower lip and adjusted her stethoscope, watching her with what could be best described as a ginger expression. He was such a typical average okay guy. Paris couldn't decide if she liked or despised the safety of that.

'It's an open invitation,' Matt flashed her a smile. He was serving himself on a silver platter. A successful man who was more than easy on the eye, knew his way around a woman and was not afraid to openly display his interest in her.

She nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting in the slightest of grins. He did offer to make it worth her time. And he had put up with her lack of flirting skills. He found her attractive and made her feel like a woman who wore her intelligence well. He deserved to be given a chance.

'It's triple espresso,' she called after Matt.

He turned, eyeing her with curious wonder, a glint of hope visible in his gold-speckled eyes.

Paris lifted the takeaway coffee cup.

'Hot and strong,' she rose an eyebrow at her own suggestive comment, winning a cheeky grin from him.

'Call and I'll be more than happy to deliver,' he gave a polite nod and left.

Paris returned to the nurse's station, winning a couple of smirks by the staff nurse and two hospital assistants who had been around to watch the exchange. Paris dismissed them with a roll of her eyes and resumed doing her charts.

'You keep walking around asking to be manhandled,' a male voice sounded to her left.

'Mind your own business, Tristan,' she shrugged, keeping her attention over the charts.

'Hey,' he leaned before her face, checking her expression. 'What's that?' he pointed at her face, scowling.

'What?' she drew back, lifting a hand to touch her cheek, checking if she had something sticking from the corner of her mouth.

'Is that a smile on your face?' he asked, elbowing her playfully. 'Have you thought of having a head scan? I think you might be experiencing some signs of brain damage. Atypical behavior is an early sign that's far too easily neglected.'

'Ha-ha,' Paris shook her head, trying to fist bump his stomach, which Tristan dodged effortlessly.

'Now that's more like you,' he glanced at her fist. 'I was beginning to worry.'

'No need to worry,' she shrugged. 'I'm my everyday badass self,' she gave him a smug look.

'That you are,' he chuckled softly, his eyes skimming her face and lingering over her lips with an unfathomable expression.

'So are you, Dugray,' Paris gave him a serious look. 'Just remember where your balls are and keep in mind you're much more than that.'

Tristan's expression stilled for a moment. Paris' brows furrowed.

'You know you deserve much better than her, right?'

And there it was. For the first time since she'd known Tristan Dugray, it hit Paris that maybe, just maybe, he didn't. There was a pretty good chance that Tristan Dugray didn't know he deserved better. How was that even possible? It was beyond her. Maybe stupid lazy generous people like him suffered some kind of reality distortion disorder. Who knew.

'You do, dumbface,' Paris said with a little sigh, searching his eyes for emphasis. 'You totally do. You deserve so much better than what you put yourself up for.'

He blinked, seemingly flustered. Paris studied his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking and coming short of ideas. He really looked far too flustered to be able to lead a meaningful conversation. Oh well.

'Just call me if you need me to kick her ass, okay?' Paris said before taking her charts and moving away from the nurse's station counter, leaving Tristan to stare behind her.

Yep.

Big.

Trouble.

* * *

 **TBC**


	28. Inside And Out

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

* * *

Tristan Dugray walked into _St Morrison_ 's, feeling a certain bounce in his step. He looked around, registering the rays of sunlight streaming through the glass foyer windows. Dust particles were visible in the air, dancing a lazy dance up and around.

A couple of members of the hospital staff passed him by and Tristan returned their greeting nods.

He looked up, turning off the surrounding noise until everything melted into a common blur. He blinked. His eyes were focused on the moving white coat clad figure descending the steps from the second level of the foyer. His chest swelled. He remembered when he was a kid, he would think kite fliers were some pretty joyful folks, running and laughing in the open, the wind brushing past their ears. He didn't have time to stop and think why he remembered that particular fact at this very moment because the white coat clad figure approached him, balancing two to-go cups.

'You're oozing more cheese than a sappy country song, Dugray,' Paris muttered, shoving a green smoothie into his hands and nodding towards the registration desk where today's surgical schedule was posted. 'I'm assisting you and Thompson for a Dor patch plasty in fourth. Start is scheduled in ten, so find a pop boys band to enlist in or you better get those gooey eyes wide open and change.'

Tristan followed her in the direction of the locker rooms, her babble about details of the Dor procedure vaguely registering at the back of his mind.

Ten minutes later as he finished his smoothie at the OR entrance, already in his scrubs, his surgical cap hanging from his pocket, he looked her in the eye and gave her a nod.

'You hate country,' he noted.

Paris stopped her monologue about the existing variations of Dor procedure and gave him a deadly look.

'I've been briefing you on the techniques of ventricular suturing and that's what you decide to focus on?'

She groaned, hanging her head back.

'Why am I stuck with the poster child of the Goofy Morons Is Us Society?'

He shrugged, his smile getting wider.

'You're pretty immune to stupidity I guess,' he smirked as he threw the empty takeaway cup into the trash bin beside the swinging doors leading to the OR. Paris held one wing of the door open for him and watched him as he moved to go past her.

'I don't _hate_ country,' she moved her mouth to the side. 'I find it useless and nerve-wretching.' She threw him a sideways glance. 'But with time, you learn to appreciate it and it kind of grows on you. Like a wart.'

Tristan stopped and turned back, putting a forearm above her head, leaning on the door she held open for him.

His eyes were vivid as he moved his gaze from one of her eyes to the other and then back, as if checking, searching for something.

'Good,' he said hovering above her, a cheeky smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

Paris filled her lungs with air and let it out briefly. Without her heels, their height difference was ridiculous. She had to crane her head up in order to be able to see him.

'Because it would break my heart if it didn't.' he said.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read through his casual demeanor and the unexpected intensity behind his gaze.

He tilted his head, pointing at the OR with his chin.

'Let's get in and cut this heart open.'

* * *

'Motorcycle accident. Twenty-six year old man, polytrauma. Multidisciplinary needed in fifth,' the speakers announced.

'Polytrauma,' Paris rubbed her hands impatiently. 'Thank God for bikers.'

Jess and Tristan exchanged looks.

'Hey!' Paris' indignant voice made them turn back towards her. 'I saw that. Don't pretend you're not excited, polytrauma is a surgical smorgasbord.'

'Jesus,' Jess shook his head while Tristan was trying to suppress a chuckle. 'You're lucky there was no Humanity test in Med school.'

'Because _you_ would've passed it,' Paris rolled her eyes.

They entered the scrub room and started washing their hands.

All three of them turned to look in the direction of the swinging doors to the scrub room where a tall figure in white scrubs and a light blue surgical cap entered. The three of them seemed to suck in a breath as they watched her wash her hands and then scrub. There was an air about her, some unspoken feeling of superiority. The way she moved, the way she scrubbed. Oh, the way she scrubbed. Paris hoped the didn't have drool pooling from the corner of her mouth. The woman was some damn surgical legend and she seemed to own that as she stood straighter, keeping her hands up with the elbows pointing down, giving the three of them a brief acknowledging nod before entering the OR.

'If I have the worst surgical crush on the Vamp, slap me,' Paris whispered towards Jess.

'If you turn goo goo eyed, I'll make sure we have a one to one.'

'Life-savior.'

'And if she gets touchy-feely with Dugray, be sure to kick her shin when she's not clamping a cerebral artery.'

'Sure do.'

They entered the OR, Jess and Paris feeling more than a bit curious while Tristan felt less than a little bit so.

...

'Electrocoagulation.'

'Clamp.'

Beatrice Shefield took the instrument and stood straighter, moving her head from side to side, the tendons of her fine neck straining. She was graceful, her figure elegant, her movements precise with practiced grace.

'Clips.'

Minutes passed as the surgery went on. The staff looked towards the round clock on the wall more and more often.

Shefield went on, seemingly unperturbed. Her surgical technique was impeccable, making the finest movements over the surgical field seem easy and natural. Her surgical touch was the product of years and years of practice and devotion and the air in the room seemed thick with respect at the way she handled herself all over the course of the surgery.

As their looks met a couple of times during the surgery, Jess' eyes met Paris' with a spark of amusement. At some point there was a certain manipulation that all but made the staff clap their hands in applause, when Jess arched an eyebrow and Paris stopped herself before she let the awe reach her eyes, rolling her eyeballs at him instead.

'Aspiration.'

The rest of the surgical team had practically finished their part and were standing until the end of the surgery because they somehow felt they were witnessing something extraordinary. Because Beatrice Shefield was an artist in her field. And it was extraordinary to witness this extent of human skill, handling surgical instruments like they were meant to produce a masterpiece and creating a fucking symphony from scratch.

'Again.'

'Suture.'

Beatrice Shefield straightened up, rolling her shoulders and moving her head from side to side. With a natural, fluid move, she lowered her head towards Tristan's shoulder, touching her forehead to wipe some invisible sweat drops into his surgical coat. For a moment time froze. And Paris saw it. The way they fit together. Like the cover of a magazine, they looked good together. Her vintage elegance and his boyish charm. A glamorous match. They clicked.

And then, as if an invisible force brought her look towards Tristan's face, she saw it. Something else. Something beside her graceful form and his athletic build. The detachment. The disgust. Paris narrowed her eyes, unsure of whether to believe her gut. But there it was. Disgust. With Shefield? With himself?

Paris had been working with Tristan Dugray for two years now, known him for a total of twelve years, and still felt like she only recently began to understand him. Because for a moment she caught a glimpse of what was under that shiny loud exterior. And it was a man who knew loneliness, inside and out.

* * *

A couple of hours later Dr Geller was checking Mr Wang's vitals. He was starting to slowly wake up from the anesthesia. Alinski had already checked on him, and so were gonna the rest of the team who had performed the surgery.

'He good?' Tristan's voice came beside her while Paris filled in Mr Wang's chart.

'As good as new,' Paris answered.

A pause. She stole a sideways glance, finding him no different from any other day. He could become the poster man for a boy band any minute now and totally look the part. How could he be the most laid-back and at the same time the loneliest man in the world? She thought how he always seemed to lay himself bare but at the same time changed focus, making the bystander miss the first thing about him.

'You needed me?' a low female voice with an attractive rasp to it came behind them, snapping Paris out of her thoughts.

'You speak Mandarin?' Paris asked without turning back to face Shefield.

A pause. A pause during which Beatrice Shefield did the math and figured that this Geller punk had turned from adoring her to thinking it hurt her lungs to breathe the same air as her.

Shefield's answer came clipped and fast.

'No.'

'Then what could he possibly need you for?' Paris turned towards Shefield, her look sharp and unapologetic.

'I guess we're finished here,' Shefield breathed through her nose and started to leave. She paused midway, turning her chin towards Paris, a small smile gracing her lips.

'It was your mother I operated on last year, wasn't it?'

The question was asked with such ease, like slicing butter. A question to which she knew the answer.

'Nanny,' Tristan's voice came raspy. 'It was her nanny.'

The two women exchanged looks, the air between them electrifying.

Oh yeah, Missy. This means war.

* * *

'I never thought I'd witness this.'

Tristan's hand paused on the door handle to his Audi.

The parking was almost empty, the work day long over. Tristan shook his head and licked his lip, bracing himself for another of Bea's verbal attacks. She loved flaunting the fact that she knew him. She liked to believe she knew him so well.

'You're crushing on that Oompa Loompa feminist leader.'

Tristan's face stood closed off, guarded, not a trace of a smile as he lifted his head to meet Beatrice's look.

'At first I thought you were being friendly,' Beatrice reasoned, leaning back against the backdoor of the car, folding her arms before her chest.

'But then I saw you watch her drink coffee. For five minutes.'

Tristan shrugged, his posture stiff.

'I've slept with her. Both of us know it doesn't have to mean anything.'

Beatrice pressed her lips together and gave him a long look.

'Yeah. We do.'

Because they had been in a relationship for months, and he hadn't once given her reason to believe he loved her. And she hadn't bargained for more, because she liked to keep things casual, to be able to be in control. She had never thought of wanting anything but his body until she'd lost all of him and found the gap much wider than she'd anticipated.

Beatrice shook her head in disbelief. He did care about that little punk, more than he was willing to admit.

'She's practically me, you know? Maybe a little younger and rough around the edges, but anyway. You've found another me. Have you thought about that?'

Tristan smiled inwardly, making sure to keep his face neutral on the outside. Paris Geller was a powerful woman who was born to lead armies. She was egocentric, control freaked and unapologetic. Basically, she was cutthroat bitch... if she had to stand up for the people she loved. If she had to spill blood, she wouldn't think twice. Because that was the only way she knew how to love. And her love... her love was just as fierce and breathtaking as she was.

Tristan opened his car door and gave Beatrice a long look.

'She's nothing like you,' he let out a small smile before he entered the Audi and started the engine.

* * *

 **TBC**


	29. Ties

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

* * *

'You don't return my calls.'

Tristan looked up from the charts he'd been filling, turning slightly in her direction.

'Morning, Paris.'

'You didn't read my texts either. You know how I know? I don't get the ' _Read_ ' receipt.'

Tristan opened his mouth to reply but Paris wouldn't let him begin to speak.

'You always read my texts and come up with something stupid to say in return. What's wrong with you?'

Tristan folded his arms before his chest and rested back against the nurse's station counter, settling more comfortably to accept the inevitable. If Paris Geller was about to rant, she would rant and nothing could stop her.

'I texted Aiden and he said you were rolling around on the sofa watching Netflix. And at first I was like 'Meh, whatever. Last time he binge watched _Game Of Thrones_ , followed by _Breaking Bad_ and _Mad Men_ so what's another set of hemorrhoids to this stellar butt?.' But then Aiden let on something about _Desperate Housewives_ and I thought I was about to pop an aneurysm. ' _House Of Cards_ I could take, _Homeland_ and even...' she took a breath, looking aroud conspiratorially, 'even _Suits_...' she whispered as if she was disclosing some sensitive information. '... I guess. But _Desperate Housewives_? Really?. What's next - _Devious Maids_? _The Bold And The Beautiful_?' Paris made a dramatic pause and shook her head with her eyes wide open, her hand pointing at something to her right, as if where is this world going?.

'I'm worried about you, Dugray,' she let out a somber sigh. 'You've been known to become a couch potato for a couple of weeks when you broke your leg. And you definitely needed intervention then. I think you need and intervention now.'

'Paris,' Tristan said, amusement and exasperation battling in his eyes.

'Do you need an intervention? Do I need to intervene or are you backing off on me now that sex predator Shefield is in the picture? You must give me a sign as to what's happening because I can't read subtle. I'm not subtle, you're not subtle, the whole situation isn't subtle. Maybe Shefield is a _little_ subtle but you know what? Screw her. Not literally. Please don't screw her in the Biblical sense.'

She rose her palm, silencing him before he could interrupt.

'You know what? That's fine. I realize you're probably about to fall back into some sick routine with her. Who knows, you've probably already hit it off because come on, _I_ would readily go to bed with her so yeah... I guess I can relate to being starstruck. Obviously. So I'm not about to judge. See?' she rose her palms. 'I understand. You have needs. Boy, have you talked my ears off about the amount and frequency of needs you have,' she shook her head thoughtfully.

'Plus how could I be one to judge when I've been having sleepovers at Matt's every now and then and we sure didn't spend the time going through the names of constellations visible in March. But still,' she scrunched her nose, 'Shefield? I don't know why or how, but she makes you miserable and I guess I thought you would know better this time. I mean you can screw almost anybody else in this hospital, literally go around kissing strangers and have hot meaningless sex all over the place, and you definitely don't need to put up with her crap to get someone down your pants so why not expect more from yourself and not let her get to you for a change? I've seen the way you are around her and I don't like it, not one bit.'

'Paris,' his voice was low, lower than usual. She wasn't sure if it was low with warning or low with something else. She hated that. The fact that he had been her friend for a while now and she still didn't know how to read him. The fact that suddenly it was so important that she did.

'I just wanna know when I can have my friend back,' she moved her mouth to the side, as if the very constatation brought a sour taste to her mouth.

She lifted a hand as if she was about to touch his arm but paused midway, letting it slump back down by her side. She shook her head once and looked up, sobering. It was one of the rare occasions when she looked unsure of where they stood. One of the rare occasions where she backed off.

'Start returning my messages,' she sighed before she walked away, feeling his eyes on her nape.

...

Beatrice Shefield was standing a couple of feet from the elevators, holding a bunch of folders. She had watched the whole exchange. When Paris left, she moved her undivided attention to Tristan.

He seemed to have a pattern. Tristan Dugray, King of casual noncomittal sex, didn't sleep with a woman he was in love with.

'For how long have you been in love with her?' Beatrice asked, leaning over his shoulder at the nurse's station.

Tristan stopped filling in his charts and closed the patient's papers before making a move to leave.

'She is a woman who comes with ties,' Beatrice leaned back against the nurse's station counter, tilting her head towards him. 'You're not cut out for such a kind of relationship,' she added knowingly, making him turn abruptly. He made a step, standing close so he spoke into her face.

'Don't you think I know that?' he hissed, barely restraining his anger. He rose a finger in warning. 'Stay away from her.'

His animosity made Beatrice smile.

'You're sweet,' she rose a hand to slide a thumb along his jaw. 'My tender-hearted boy. You're not about to be her knight in shining armor, Tris.'

He pulled back as if she had stained him.

'I don't know why you're back,' he snarled, 'but I'm not gonna be your fool, Bea.'

Beatrice leaned back against the edge of the counter, folding her arms before her chest as she watched him leave.

'You've never been my fool,' she sighed, her eyes glued to the place where he had just been.

* * *

 **TBC**


	30. Tough Cookie

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine, etc._

* * *

'If you take this job seriously, you can't afford to act like a diva.'

The expression on Beatrice Shefield's face could make a person push the button of their own electric chair.

'I take my job seriously.'

John Pratt, Head of St Morrison's Board of Directors, let out a quiet sigh and rested back in his leather chair. He had turned seventy this year, the party had been fancy and sophisticated. Although he came from old money and was an Ivy League graduate, he was a man who had both of his feet on the ground and made sound judgements. That's why he had been Head of the Board for more than twelve years.

Beatrice held Pratt's look with her head held high. She always entered her battles with the self-confidence of a victress. She wasn't about to change her ways just because she found herself in a situation she hadn't been in before.

Pratt gave her a slow nod.

'Not the surgical part,' he explained calmly. 'I mean your position as administrative executive of a surgical ward. You can't keep on picking only surgeries you're interested in and leave all the paperwork to other members of the staff. You're a remarkable surgeon, Beatrice. More than that, you're an icon. But that's not what you're hired to do here. I'm sorry if St Morrison's is too small for your talent. I think we both know that...'

'I'll do it okay?' her voice came a shriller octave more stressed than normal. 'I'll try harder, just...' she took a sharp breath in, preparing herself to lose a battle in order to win the war. She couldn't be a sore loser if she wanted to do this right. And she wasn't half-assed in any aspect of her life. She wasn't gonna start now. She tipped her chin up. 'Send someone from administration and we'll go through paperwork.'

'Just...' she let out a controlled sigh, 'pick someone who's not about to get on my nerves too much and have them bring soy latte on their way.'

Under his greyed eyebrows, there was a glint of admiration in John Pratt's eyes. This was a woman who didn't give up without a fight. As a matter of fact, she wasn't known to give up, period. And John Pratt had always had an appreciation for a good fighter. He wouldn't be where he was today if he didn't.

* * *

'He still not calling? Is that why you're so grumpy?'

'Huh,' Paris made a face, picking a cobblestone from the ground between the bleachers and throwing it forward. It landed into the sprouting grass. They had taken a walk and stopped to get some rest on the bleachers (well, Rory was the one who needed the rest, really) while Josh and Jess kicked the ball along the otherwise empty field. Paris picked another cobblestone and threw it forward, this time hitting the back of a seat. Cerberus pricked his ears up and aimed a calm dark gaze up at Paris who spread her arms lifting her eyebrows in a 'what's _your_ problem' gesture. The dog continued lying in Rory's feet, wise enough not to get into a fight with a frustrated Paris.

'Why not go and kick his ass, ask him what's gotten into him?' Rory asked, petting Cerberus' head absently.

'Been there done that,' Paris answered dispassionately, narrowing her eyes to look around without actually sporting the slightest bit of interest in their surroundings. She leaned forward with a sigh, resting her elbows over her jean-clad knees and started drawing circles into the dirt around her feet with a thin straw she'd picked from the ground between the bleachers.

The silence stretched out for a while. Paris looked more sullen than Rory remembered seeing her lately.

'It didn't work,' Rory recapped for her.

'I feel so stupid. Can you see the irony in that? Tristan is the stupid one while I, in comparison, am brilliant. And _he_ 's got _me_ feeling stupid. Are you following this?'

'Surprisingly, yeah.'

'Well, it's unnerving.'

'Sometimes...'

Rory swallowed the 'sometimes love's like that' comment, because she felt it wasn't the right time for it, so she settled for,

'Sometimes people need time.'

'Oh please,' Paris huffed. 'I've given him time. I've been patient with him. I've been patient with him and I've specifically laid it out for him, like spoke it loud and clear in articulate English, that I'm being patient. I don't expect him to suddenly turn into some kind of smart person, I just need him to be non-stupid for a moment and give me a sign what the hell is going on.'

Paris stabbed at the ground with the twig, getting it crushed. Her chin was jutted forward, her eyes shooting angry daggers. She looked like her eyes could tear up from the amount of effort she put into not being as unnerved as she was.

'I'm acting stupid,' she said between clenched teeth.

Rory put a hand on her shoulder.

'You care, that's not stupid, it's human.'

'Same thing,' Paris huffed a breath out. 'I went to his gym last week.'

'To train?' Rory narrowed her eyes in confusion.

Paris squeezed her eyes shut before she grumbled,

'To leave a mozzarella package in his locker.'

 _He would know what it meant._

'I told you it was stupid.' She stood abruptly, sticking her hands into her jeans pockets and pacing in one place.

'Paris,' Rory stood up too, using both of her hands for leverage as she did, balancing her extra weight due to her growing belly. 'Are you... are you jealous?' she asked carefully, watching her friend as she kicked the wooden seat before her with the tip of her shoe.

Paris huffed dismissively, shaking her head twice.

'Out of my mind,' she said then. So quietly, it might have as well been a gust of wind.

* * *

'You're not good at soccer,' Josh said giving Jess a skeptical look under an arched brow.

Jess folded both arms before his chest and stood straighter, an amused smile nagging at the corner of his mouth. The kid was such a mouth-off, he was mini-Paris all the way through.

'Ah, who knows,' Jess shrugged, 'maybe I'm just pretending so that you can score when you play against me.'

'Huh,' Josh said, mulling over the thought for a minute. Then, he looked up at the bleachers where his mom and Rory were sitting, and slanted his head towards Jess again.

'When are you gonna leave?' Josh asked, making Jess' face freeze for a moment.

'Eh, come again?'

'Rory is gonna have a baby, right?'

Jess narrowed his eyes, not really sure where this conversation was getting.

'Ehm, yeah.'

'So when are you gonna move?'

'Move where?'

Josh stopped and gave him a stare that said 'are you really stupid?.'

'Away,' Josh said as if it was the most obvious answer. And, as if it weren't obvious enough, he made a 'duh' face and sighed, putting up with Jess' sluggishness. 'You know, when the baby is born. You're gonna move away right?'

Jess narrowed his eyes even more, the cleft between his eyebrows deepening. Josh was pretty grown-up for his own age but he wasn't grown enough to be bullshitting him.

'Josh,' Jess started carefully, feeling awkward as hell, 'do you mean move like your father?'

The kid looked at him with something like his 'duh' expression and a tinge of hurt at hearing the words out loud.

Jess licked a lip and lifted both palms to cross behind his head, making a couple of steps. Heck, how did you get out of this conversation with a four year old who wasn't even your own kid to begin with? What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to dodge the question? Okay, Mariano, think. _Think._

Who was he kidding, he was hardly an expert on fathers, were they missing or not. Jeez.

 _Okay, you're obviously having this conversation, so hell with it._

'Josh, why do you think I'll leave?'

The kid shrugged, looking more deflated.

'Aiden and Tristan don't come to pick me up from school anymore,' he mumbled.

 _Shit._ So there was that, too.

'And why do you think that is?' Jess asked carefully, carefully, stepping on thin ice. Why him? Of all the people Josh could be having this conversation with, he chose him.

The kid shrugged again, biting on the inside of his cheek.

'I guess they moved on, too,' Josh said quietly.

 _Like my father._

'Mom can be difficult,' the boy said even more quietly. 'I've heard dad say it when they argue,' he explained as he met Jess' incredulous look. 'Maybe Tristan found a new girlfriend too.'

 _Like my father._

Jess took a breath in and squatted before Josh, squeezing a palm down his nape, trying to think of a proper thing to say. His own experience of surpassing father-to-son drama in stride wasn't exactly stellar. Damn, he was catching himself in the process of sweating over the fact that he had inherited the genes of two people completely incapable of raising the child they'd brought into this world. They had brought so much chaos into his world, at some points in his life it had felt like it was irrevocable. And he would always be the son of clueless Jimmy and even more clueless Liz. Yep. He was their kid. It was non-negotiable. You don't pick your parents. Obviously.

However, Jess had managed to come through... kind of. Okay, he had come through. Somehow. God knows how. The best things about love and patience he learned at twenty-seven, after he met a newly employed doctor in the ER. The same lady doctor who was currently his fiancee and was carrying his child. He was only beginning to fight his childhood demons and he was thirty years old. Josh was four. Jess had wished so many times that there was someone who would talk some sense to him when he was a kid. He hated, _hated_ how ignorant people were at the time (because at four he shouldn't have had to check up on his mother's breathing to make sure she was still alive and at ten he shouldn't have had to clean up her vomit and think it was normal because hey, probably most ten year olds did this when they came home after school, right?). With time, as he grew older, he learned to be thankful for onlookers' ignorance because at least it meant he wouldn't have to deal with their shit, too. However, now he realized they probably didn't know what to say. Bystanders had no idea what to do in those situations and most of them didn't think twice. Not knowing what to say didn't make walking away okay though. Not by a far stretch. It only made it more... relatable.

'It feels like they didn't only leave your mother, it feels like they left you too, eh?' Jess asked in a low, calm voice.

Josh nodded, his eyes getting watery.

'People have different ways of being in each other's lives, I guess,' Jess said, sitting in the grass, leaning both elbows against his knees. Josh sat down too, mirroring his position. 'Sometimes they stay. Sometimes they don't. And whether they stay around or not is not necessarily related to how much they love or don't love you.'

The look in Josh's eyes was doubtful, albeit hopeful.

'My father left me and my mom when I was two,' Jess said in the same calm, low voice which seemed to get Josh's attention. 'He never wanted to be a part of my life and I guess if I'd have any say in it, neither would I. He wasn't a father who wanted to be a father, so it was a matter of time until he was out of my life doing his own thing anyway.'

Jess took a breath and licked a lip, musing over his next words.

'Your dad moved to California but he's still a major part of your life, right?'

'Yeah,' Josh mumbled, obviously not fully agreeing with the last part of the statement. His father had left for freaking California. The kid felt left behind. Of course he would like his father to be a bigger part of his life.

'He wants to be a part of your life then?' Jess prodded, stopping himself from wincing at his own words. This conversation was so gonna give him an ulcer.

'I guess,' Josh shrugged, not convinced.

'When he's around you, he looks happy, no?' Jess asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Josh thought about it for a second before a small smile crept up his lips.

'Yeah.'

'Yeah,' Jess nodded. 'I thought so.'

Josh looked up at Jess and his eyes had so much hope it made Jess cringe on the inside. Grown-ups were assholes. That was a fact. Life sucked and there was a great amount of injustice that each human would suffer at some point. Some kids were less lucky in the parent department, meaning their life started sucking at a younger age. But you didn't tell a four-year old _that_.

'Dad didn't leave because of you, Josh,' Jess said carefully. 'Dad didn't leave because of your mom either. He didn't leave because he doesn't love you or because he doesn't want to be part of your life anymore. Dad left because of dad. Can you try and remember that?' he asked gently, searching Josh's eyes.

The kid was watching him with wide eyes that were watering. _Watering_. Jeez.

'Okay,' Josh whispered.

'Okay,' Jess gave him a nod, trying not to ooze too much relief that this conversation was hopefully over. Tough cookie. Oh well.

* * *

 **TBC**


	31. Nu Pogodi

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: To everyone who gave this story the thumbs up - thank you! :)**

 **Loved the 'come to Jesus' reference and couldn't not use it ;)**

* * *

Doctor Tristan Dugray flew into the waiting room clad in his gym gear, looking around frantically.

'Where is she?' he asked Jess who stood up from one of the seats, followed up closely by Rory.

'In there,' Jess tilted his head towards the exam rooms. 'She's... Dugray!'

'Sir, you can't go there!' a nurse and two medical assistants trotted behind him as he started in the direction of the exam rooms.

Tristan didn't turn to give them a look.

...

A few members of the hospital staff had rushed right after Tristan, stumbling into the hospital room, panting. The guy knew how to run.

Paris put down the book she had been reading and made the nurse and the medical assistants a sign to give her and the gym-clad clown a minute. The poor guys seemed at a loss. After all, the man had all but broken into Dr Geller's hospital room and everyone knew how bad it looked if a hospital couldn't ensure professional health service to one of its own lady-surgeons. Seeing the reluctance in the medical assistants' eyes, Paris gave them a pointed ' _you don't wanna mess with me_ ' look and repeated the hand wave to dismiss them. They left the hospital room with as much as mumbling a confused ' _excuse us_ ' before closing the door.

Paris sat up into the hospital bed, shifting her gaze from the closed door back to Tristan. Fists balled by his sides, still panting, his look roaming between her face and her feet, unable to settle in one place. Looking for injuries. He looked as disheveled and out of his game as she'd ever seen him.

'Dugray? Dugray.' she tried again. ' _Tristan_!' she rose her voice snapping her fingers once, which finally cut the deal and made him look up at her.

'I'm okay,' she said slowly, articulately.

He looked at her with his eyes wide. He resembled a startled rabbit. Or a drunk reindeer. A clown without his make-up. A disaster in the making. Ugh. He had no idea what to do with himself.

'Crap,' Paris sighed and moved to the side of the hospital bed, making room for him. 'Come on,' she nodded towards the space she had vacated and watched him as he kicked his tennis shoes to the side, took off his training jacket and wordlessly climbed in beside her.

'So that's why you didn't pick up. You were _perspirating,_ ' Paris scrunched her nose, her eyebrows arching with the discovery. 'You stink, Dugray, in more ways than one.'

He didn't argue. She wasn't sure he even registered her comment. His movements were stiff as he settled in beside her. Despite being so much taller, somehow he managed to fit into the hospital bed with his forehead touching the side of her ribs, curled up into a fetal position. She lifted an arm and hung it above him. She debated what to do next before deciding to descend her arm and tap his shoulder awkwardly.

'It's okay,' she patted his shoulder. Once. Twice. 'You're such a sissy,' she sighed, looping her arm around his shoulders more decidedly, resembling a loose hug. 'I should change my emergency contact back to Rory,' Paris reasoned, letting out another sigh. 'Or Jess. You're unreliable,' she reasoned. 'You get into a fight with the hospital staff. Then whine. With your mouth shut. You whine with your mouth shut and manage to do it using only your eyes. Like some lost puppy. Or... or a mute baby. That's the definition of unreliable.'

She drew back a little, giving him a look. He was lying curled up next to her with his eyes closed, a vein in his temple pumping, two thermal shirt-covered arms stiffly locked around her torso. He looked like a victim of PTSD.

'Because, honestly?' Paris took a breath and continued, trying her best to make her voice sound as condescending as she could muster. Because that was her definition of lightening the mood. Oh well. 'You get hurt and what do I do? I step in saving the day, acting all badass and level-headed. But I do as much as trip over a shopping cart in the grocery store, infamously bumping my head into a shelf and subsequently needing a head scan to ensure all the brilliance is still in there. And what do _you_ do? Here you are causing a riot in the ER shouting like a maniac,making hospital staff chase you around the ward like some reenactment of _Nu Pogodi_.'

Nothing. Oh, Dugray.

'Are you always this dysfunctional when you're worried?'

He only locked his arms tighter around her, gripping like his life depended on it.

'I'm not even hurt. You're unbelievable. Such an overkill,' she sighed, resting her head back onto the pillow, stroking his nape absent-mindedly.

* * *

'You hungry?' Rory asked as they entered their rental and switched the lamps on one by one, throwing her purse over one of the kitchen high stools.

'Nah, I'm okay,' Jess said, following behind, stretching his arms above his head sleepily. 'You?'

'Me too,' Rory smiled, raising a palm to stroke his cheek. 'You're tired.'

It was strange how, now that she had finally taken a leave off work, she regularly noticed how tired he was after a long shift. He must have been tired before too, but when they were both working she was probably too groggy to notice. He had been working when the call for Paris came. Rory had been the first to reach the ER, and Jess had come shortly after. And then... Well, then Dugray happened. Ah.

'What are you thinking about?' Jess made a step to come closer, standing right before her. He reached a hand up and put a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb smoothing a line at the corner of her eye.

Rory let out a crooked smile.

'I remembered the look on Tristan's face when he flew into the waiting room, looking for her.'

Jess nodded with recognition.

'You should've let me kick his ass at the Monday training, would've come to his senses earlier.'

Rory looked up at him and smirked. Jess had been more than ready to give Dugray the _come to Jesus_ talk but she had asked him to wait and give the poor guy some time. _Time,_ Jess had huffed, _'For what? To make an even bigger ass of himself?'_ However, Rory had managed to talk him into being more patient. _I'm sure he has his reasons for being the way he is... apart from being a major jerk. You didn't always wear your heart on your sleeve either, Mariano. Give the man time._ That had made Jess reluctantly consent to thrash Dugray around the gym floor only mentally. For now.

'I think they compliment each other,' Rory sighed thoughtfully. 'In the strangest way, they do.'

'Huh,' Jess shook his head and moved to sit on the sofa, stretching his feet before him.

'Jeez, I'm beat,' he suppressed a yawn.

'I'll make some tea, go to bed,' Rory suggested.

Jess massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger, resting his head back with his eyes closed. He looked like the definition of beat. Rory's eyes moved, completely on their own accord, towards the patch of bare skin where his tee had ridden up over the belt of his jeans. He had been consistent with his trainings with Dugray and it showed, if she were judging by the cut V of his waist. She felt a familiar longing stir and a pang of nostalgia hit her. A couple of months ago, she would have crawled up his lap and his exhaustion would be long forgotten within mere seconds. Now, not so much. She felt huge, almost twice her size, clad in a sloppy Joe sweater. She wasn't monstrously huge, at least she hoped she wasn't. But she was much more self-conscious every time she passed by the mirror, losing the shape of her waist and the hollow of her cheeks completely. Having a quite pregnant belly protrude before her, spontaneous engagement into any kind of physical affection felt much more... elephantine. And rare. Much more rare. Agh.

Rory shook her head, willing her look to move up, finding a very asleep Jess on the couch.

Okay. Tea time it was.

* * *

 **TBC**


	32. Choose You Over Anybody Else

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews, your feedback keeps me going :) Finally, some Lit time :)**

 **WARNING : M CONTENT AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER (started out as borderline M but somehow developed into honest M at some point, so BE WARNED :) I think I'm changing the rating since this chapter, just to be sure. Have been thinking about it for a while, I guess the time has come.  
**

* * *

'The Vamp coming at one o'clock. Beware,' Paris leaned over the nurse's station counter to whisper her warning to Tristan who was sitting in a swivel chair, filling out the surgical schedule.

'I tried calling you,' Beatrice Shefield said, looking directly at Paris.

'It was you, Blocked Number!' Paris exclaimed with exaggerated excitement. Then, turning towards Tristan who looked up at her with his most innocent poker face, 'I knew it was her.'

'I told you. You should've picked. She's your boss you know,' Tristan reasoned in what was probably supposed to be his wise voice. _Really, Dugray?_ Paris rolled her eyes so only he could see how full of shit she thought he was. He shrugged.

'She's your boss too, dumbass,' Paris cocked her head to the side, arching an eyebrow.

'You have no manners whatsoever, Gellar,' Tristan commented, amused. 'That's why we're such a good team. Come on,' he stood up, circling the counter to throw an arm over her shoulder, 'let me get you a triple espresso before we scrub in for the nephrectomy in Third.'

'That urge to punch you in the gut is getting stronger with every passing day, Dugray,' Paris sighed, following anyway.

'Can we try and drown it in free triple espressos?' He leaned over her ear conspiratorially. 'The barista is a fan of mine.'

'I bet poor baristas' ovaries all over the world just don't know what to do with themselves at the sight of you.' Paris shook her head in mock condescending way. 'Lead the way, Casanova.'

They exited the room, bickering on their way to the cafeteria, leaving a bitter looking Shefield behind.

* * *

'You know, I used to find this nagging,' Tristan kicked a couple of stones along the roof terrace, approaching Rory with both hands in the pockets of his jeans.

She was also in her civilian clothes, sitting with her knees folded beneath her, watching as the ambulances pulled in and out of the hospital parking lot.

'Sorry?'

'This thing you do, circling people in and out of your little bubble of friendship.'

'Oh,' she smiled in recognition. This they did.

'But now that you're standing up for me and I'm actually in the bubble...' Tristan shook his head thoughtfully. He let out a low chuckle. 'It's fucking awesome!'

Rory smiled.

'It is, right?'

'Damn right.'

They stood in amicable silence for a while, him standing straight with his hands in his jeans pockets, her sitting on her right hip, a palm resting to the side over the rooftop deck to support her weight.

'Don't disappear on them like that again,' Rory spoke in a couple of minutes, catching him by surprise.

'What?'

'Josh has been moping around wondering what his mom does wrong to make all men in her life pull away,' Rory explained calmly, unfazed by his surprise.

Tristan was staring, wide-eyed.

'Yeah,' Rory nodded knowingly. 'Can you try and be smart about whatever is going on between you and Paris?'

'I...' Tristan's jaw tensed and a muscle over his neck strained as he looked ahead, his eyes somber. 'I thought that's what I was doing.'

Rory stood up, helping herself by pushing up with her palms, and moved to stand beside Tristan, looking ahead in similar fashion. She chewed on her lower lip, giving her next words some thought.

'The most miserable time in my life was when the person I wanted to be there for the most shut me out completely.'

Tristan opened his mouth and then closed it.

'Whatever you're going through, she can handle it.' Then, after a moment's pause, 'If you let her.'

They stood like that, each of them staring ahead, not rushing to end the silence.

'Shit,' Tristan hissed between his teeth, shaking his head.

Rory put a palm over his shoulder and tilted her chin to look up at him.

'She's more herself when she is around you,' she said calmly. 'And she cares about you. A lot.'

Tristan's head snapped to the side, the look in his eyes stormy and hurt.

Rory smiled, squeezing his shoulder once before stepping back.

'I know you care about her too,' she gave him a nod. 'But maybe you should consider stop pretending like that's not much of a big deal. So you don't hurt each other unnecessarily.'

He looked at her, unblinking and concerned. She smiled again and gave him a nod before making her way to leave.

'I'm gonna go pick Jess. Oh, and just to be warned,' she added, turning at the metal door before she stepped back inside, 'He was totally gonna kick your butt in the gym and have a one on one with you. I made him give me a chance to talk to you first. But if i were you, I would keep my crotch at more than a leg's length.'

* * *

'Are you back?'

'Eh?'

Tristan looked up, frowning a little. He had been fidgeting with the car key for a while now. He had brought the boys back from a football training and they were currently upstairs in Josh's room, playing a video game. Paris was unloading groceries from a big paper package and they hadn't established eye contact yet. After the small stunt they pulled in front of Shefield two days ago, they hadn't really talked much, greeting each other in the corridors, the whole exchange brief and somehow lacking its usual easy flow. He had texted her earlier today, suggesting he could pick up the boys from their football practice and she had texted him back, taking up on the offer. And here they were, him awkwardly leaning against the door frame of Paris' living room while she was in the adjacent kitchen getting cupboards and fridge doors open and closed.

'Are you back to being my friend or are you gonna go MIA on me again?' Paris clipped. Then, with a little more resignation, right after closing a cupboard to her left and turning to face him, 'Because I could use a friend right now.'

Tristan stilled for a moment, his back going into a straight line as he uncrossed his ankles and stood taller, facing her. She was looking at him with her expression open, showing some uncertainty and some apprehension, but what hit him was the acceptance he found in her eyes, somehow knowing she had forgiven him for standing her up and caving in for weeks. He blinked, his Adam's apple bobbing a couple of times before he walked further into the room, taking a seat on one of the high stools and leaning both his arms over the kitchen counter, giving her a nod. His eyes were calm as he regarded Paris for a moment before telling her a quiet

'I'm here.'

Paris let out a sigh, composing herself. She tried not to ooze too much relief although it was kind of obvious in the way her shoulders relaxed.

'I think Josh is being bullied. Not majorly. I mean, the way four year olds bully each other. I think he was on the receiving side of it a couple of times now and I wanna stand up for him, but I don't want to lead his battles for him either.'

She groaned, rubbing a palm against her forehead.

'Sometimes I miss Doyle and his useless fatherly advise.'

'They talk?' Tristan asked, his voice calm and void of judgement. 'I mean Josh and Doyle. They still kind of close?'

Paris shrugged, puffing a breath out.

'I guess... kind of.'

She chewed on her lower lip, shaking her head thoughtfully, playing with an apple over the counter.

'Josh looks up to his father and Doyle loves spending time with him, on the phone or otherwise. I mean, it's not like he lacks proof that his father loves him. But it's not the same as having your father by your side daily. They're more like a brother pair than a father and son. Doyle is the superhero big brother who's always away in search of his true self. However, I think if Doyle was around for the routine everyday stuff and not only for the fun I-missed-you-so-much-buddy-let's-do-something-awesome-together part, it would be different. I don't know.'

Tristan's mouth pressed into a thin line, a bitter smile grazing his lips. He had had his father around as a child. It never provided the kind of comfort Paris imagined. As a matter of fact, it had been that constant reminder of how habitually disappointed his family was with him. They say kids who were trouble in school did stupid stuff as a cryout for help, trying to bring attention upon themselves. Maybe. What Tristan's experience had taught him was he could never live up to someone's unvoiced standards. Every time he tried to become visible, it turned out he did it the wrong way. His parents would forever out him from the family, so he could as well stay like that - the dislocated joint of a socialite family, the shameful dropout who never got it right with the people who brought his life into this world.

'I'm never gonna be anybody's kid,' Paris' voice came, somehow voicing his own thoughts.

He tilted his head to the side and gave her a questioning look.

'You know how when you go somewhere you don't go in by yourself, you've got all that backlight shine - where you come from, who your parents are, what social circles you used to move into. Because you're someone's son or daughter and somehow your parents stand up for you even when they're not around. It's not even about your family name. But when life goes rough and you get yourself thrashed up, you can always go back to your mom and dad's, have somewhere you belong,' she let out a sigh.

Tristan got off the high stool and moved around the corner, stopping right before her. He brought both of his hands up, wiping the underside of her eyes with his thumbs. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

'Panda eyes,' he explained in a low voice, his gaze lingering over her face for a moment before he stepped back, leaning his hip against the counter, his attention never breaking from her. Paris looked down and shook her head.

'I'll never have that. Never had a real connection with my parents to begin with. But for Josh, I want him to have it. I want him to feel that he's someone's kid, that someone will stand up for him, fiercely so, if he needs a backup.'

'He knows that, Paris,' Tristan narrowed his eyes. 'He is absolutely aware, believe me. He knows that every step he takes, he's under close surveillance. Have you forgotten how powerful your scrutiny is?' he smirked, making her roll her eyes.

'He's a boy,' Tristan reasoned, 'he'll get into fights. He'll learn how to deal with bullies, both from his own experience and from the way you handle the information he chooses to confide in you. But don't ever doubt he knows that you have his back. He does.'

She looked up questioningly.

'You think?'

Tristan let out a low chuckle.

'You make it painfully clear.'

Paris rolled her eyes.

'Painfully.'

Tristan shrugged, his smile growing wider.

'In that hurts so good way, yeah. You're his favorite fascist.'

She took a deep breath and stood straighter.

'I could live with that.'

'I thought you would.'

'Okay.'

'Okay.'

Their eyes locked and he could tell hers were grateful. They were shining with a myriad of emotions. The way she was looking at him pulled a string within his chest and he took a sharp breath in, clapping his hands together in an exaggerated display of vigorousness, trying not to drown into the way she made his head reel in moments like these.

'Now let's make me a sandwich.'

' _You_ make yourself a sandwich,' Paris waved a hand towards the fridge.

'That's what I said, wasn't it?' Tristan smirked, rolling up the sleeves of his slim-fit henley.

Paris rolled her eyes and passed him by on her way to her room. At the foot of the stairs she turned, taking in how at ease this man who had become such a substantial part of her life moved around in her kitchen. Sometimes it was so easy to play house with him. It was both stunning and terrifying. She shook her head with a small sigh, willing herself to go change before those heels killed her legs irrevocably.

* * *

'What do you mean by 'not enough'?' Jess frowned, a deep crease forming across his forehead.

Rory chewed on her lower lip, feeling the blush on her cheeks spread up, burning her ears, creeping down her neck.

'I know that in the grand scheme of things I'm enough. I'm... I don't know, I guess I'm special since I'm carrying your child in my womb and all but... somehow, sometimes, it doesn't feel like enough.'

Jess blinked, seemingly at a loss.

'I'll need some clues,' he said with his eyebrows still drawn together, resting back on the sofa with his arms folded before his chest, watching her intently. He looked dead serious, like he was really trying to see her reasoning behind this.

The thing was, Rory wasn't sure there was a whole ton of sound reasoning behind this. It could be the hormones. Pregnant women were crazy with hormones right? That's why she had pushed that feeling away for so long now. Months. Months in which she had tried to bypass the topic like it was a whim to dismiss, something that was about to go away the moment her body came back to its original parameters. Once it did. If it did. Hopefully.

Ah, she needed to stop this. It was driving her insane. And it felt somehow... petty, compared to the grand scheme of things. Because she was gonna be a mother, another living person was gonna come out of her womb, and were mothers supposed to be self-centered and whiny just because they felt like a distorted version of themselves and maybe carried around a ton of pent up sexual frustration that hadn't found a let out?

She blew air from her cheeks and started pacing under his laser gaze. Why wasn't he making a joke? Usually he would say something sarcastic to make light of the situation, while he was watching her carefully, trying to understand what the hell she meant. Wasn't it obvious? Or did he think she had a point? Is that why he kept silent? Silently consenting to her mortification?

She shook her head. She needed to stop being in her head and talk. Talk. She could do this. She was a Gilmore. She could talk. Like hell she could. But could she explain? Could she explain what was bothering her when she wasn't sure she understood it herself?

'It feels like we're still us but we're failing at keeping things up like they used to be,' she started, rolling her eyes with frustration at the ridiculousness of her own words. 'I mean, there used to be this feeling of... desperation when you would reach for me. Like if you didn't get to me in time and touch me right this minute the world could end. Or when you talked to me when... you know,' she made a gesture with her hand. 'You would say borderline inappropriate stuff and I would pretend to dismiss your profanities but we both know I love it when you mouth off.'

She let out another puff of air, running both hands through her hair, glancing at him briefly, finding him listening intently, sitting on the couch with his arms still folded before his chest. His intent silence frustrated her to no end.

'We would touch for the sake of touching,' she said almost angrily, feeling her voice get stuck somewhere at the back of her throat.

God, this was so embarrassing. So, so embarrassing. However, once you start a conversation like this, there's no getting out of it. So, she continued.

'We would make love but sometimes we would just... you know,' she licked a lip, looking at him pleadingly, waiting for him to confirm that yeah, he did know. The line between his brows didn't get any less deep. Oh boy.

'Sometimes it would be just mindless chemistry and there would be a carelessness in it. Like... like we were free to do whatever we wanted, like we didn't have a care in the world.'

She stopped pacing right in front of him and crossed her arms before her chest, her elbows practically resting over her belly. Talk about the perks of having a pregnant belly.

'Will you say something?' she asked, her voice giving into the aggravation.

He arched an eyebrow.

'What do you want me to say?' he asked.

Wrong thing to say.

'I don't know,' she sighed, feeling the anger simmer. 'You can start by not looking like you're trying to find a way to operate on an end-stage carcinoma.'

The corners of his mouth moved an inch up but he smoothed them almost instantly. She was shooting daggers at him even before he decided he found her insecurities amusing. How she wanted to smack him with something. She did in fact dart a look around the room, her gaze pausing over a medical journal of six hundred pages. That could make for good smacking device.

The corners of his mouth twitched again and he concentrated on the effort not to smile. Again. Not to smile again. The nerve he got.

'I saw this,' she narrowed her eyes at him accusingly.

He took a breath. It was no use, the laugh was already bubbling within his chest.

She felt so frustrated. And helpless. And minuscule. With her pitiful fears. With her petty insecurities. With her helplessness against her own changing body. She felt tears prick at her eyes. Great. She couldn't even tell if it was from frustration or anger, but she felt her eyes well up. And Jess, the fit and gorgeous as hell Jess who was comfortably at ease with his cut, trained, free of stretch marks body, had the nerve to _laugh_. Her palm itched to slap the smirk off his face.

'Stop it,' she hissed, lifting both hands to cover her eyes with the back of her fists. 'Seriously, Jess, if you don't stop laughing right now, I'm gonna smack _The Lancet_ flat on your face.'

Rory felt his palms against the side of her arms. She made a move to step out of his hold but Jess moved with her, taking hold of her sides, his eyes still twinkling with laughter.

'Stop laughing,' she groaned.

'I'm trying,' he said, making an effort to calm his breathing as the laughter finally subsided. 'I am,' he insisted as he saw her look of disbelief. 'It's just the situation is funny.'

She rolled her eyes and made another attempt to step out of his hold but he stepped closer and looped an arm around her back, pressing her head into his chest into a hug. She felt his smile against her temple.

'The situation,' he murmured against her hair, 'not you. I wasn't making fun of you, I swear.'

Rory let out a groan against his shoulder.

'The fact that you find my fears amusing is making me feel so much better.'

'You know what's so funny?' he asked, his tone calm and conversational as his breath brushed her ear. 'The fact that for months I've been jacking off over the mental image of having you against any surface available in this apartment, while you were lying in the next room, feeling horny and miserable, instead of just coming to me and telling me you miss being desperately inappropriate with me,' he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he pressed his lips against her ear. 'And I can muster being desperately inappropriate and get as far as making you feel good. So, so good.'

'It feels like we're worse at being ourselves. So many things are changing,' she said quietly, her voice trembling, moving her arms to circle his waist. Like if he decided to step away now she wouldn't let him. 'I feel like the situation requires me to be someone else, someone more mature and selfless.'

'What situation?' he murmured into her hair.

'Becoming a mother, bringing another human into this world. Like I've got all this responsibility to be wiser than to ask for sex here and there.'

'You've been going around asking for sex?' Jess drew his head back so he could have a look at her.

She rolled her eyes and bumped her forehead against his chest, letting it rest there with a suppressed groan.

'You know what I mean.'

'Like, knocking at the neighbors' asking for it? Or posting it on your social media calendar? Walking the streets shouting for it?'

She swatted his shoulder, pressing her forehead further against his chest in mortification.

'Stop it, you know it wasn't like that.'

'I'm your husband, Rory,' Jess said, smoothing her hair, letting out a slow sigh. 'You can tell me anything.'

'Technically, you're still my fiance,' she corrected him, deciding to stick to factuality.

'I wanna be your husband. I want you to be my wife. The sooner, the better.'

'Like... have a wedding?' she put her head up, drawing back a little so she could see his face.

'Like I wanna put my signature on it. I don't really care about the circumstances,' he said, his eyes firmly set on her.

'But...' she licked a lip, her brain suddenly working a hundred miles a minute.

A pregnant bride?

She winced. She had always so not imagined herself as a pregnant bride. Hadn't, until recently, imagined herself pregnant period. Agh.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jess lifted her chin so she was looking directly at him.

'I don't care how it will or will not look. All I care about is you. I wanna be a family with _you_.'

'Well, that's good because the rest of the world-'

'The rest of the world can go fuck itself. You can tell the rest of the world I choose you over them,' he smirked, his thumb tracing her chin. 'We're making it official whenever you feel right to do it.'

She blinked, looking at him, trying to imagine herself into a double size wedding dress, walking penguin-style down the aisle balancing a bouquet over her belly.

'Meanwhile,' he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, 'I could try to convince you how good it could be to be my wife.'

Her skin broke out in goosebumps at the feel of his tongue. Tracing a soft line down her neck, then moving on to the hollow of her throat.

'I choose you over anybody else,' he moved to kiss her clavicle before circling her, moving to stand behind her as one hand took hold of her chin and the other of her hip.

'Do you have any idea what you do to me?' he asked, his voice a low rumble. He gently nudged her head to the side so he could move onto the exposed skin, nipping and tasting with purpose.

'Feel what you do to me,' he whispered hoarsely, his breath feathering the wet traces he'd left over her neck, her skin coming alive with each brush of his lips. Her whole body was tingling, humming at his proximity. He took hold of her hips with both hands and pulled her back against himself, both letting out a growl as he pressed against the small of her back, blatantly ready through the denim of his jeans and the cotton of her sweater.

'I want you so much it hurts,' he said, his nose buried into her hair as he inhaled, bracing himself. 'It hurts to restrain myself and not selfishly take everything I want from you but I'm gonna have you writhing and pleading until I'm convinced you want me just as much as I want you before I take you right here in the middle of the room while you're holding onto the back of the armchair.'

Rory whimpered, feeling her whole body flush, unable to censor her reaction as she pressed back into him.

'Is this,' she swallowed, finding her voice dry and breathy. 'Is this how you imagined it?'

'Let me show you just how I imagined it.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	33. Kiss Quick, Part 1

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: To everyone who has patiently waited for this - Tristan's story is slowly unraveling in the next two chapters. Hope everyone who felt confused but patiently shipped Tristan's character until he got his shit together, feels less confused in a couple of chapters' time and I also hope you let me know what you think about his current dynamics :)**

* * *

'What are you doing?' Rory paused by the nurse's station, eyeing Tristan curiously.

'Do you by any chance have a case of medical malpractice you'd like to share with the rest of the world?' Tristan asked, looking up at her for only a moment before continuing to dig into the big cardboard box he had put over the desk.

'Eh?'

'It's the _Medical Malpractice Black Saturday_ next week, the deadline for submitting case reports is tomorrow. I'm looking for my worst case failure so I can submit it for the competition.'

'Competition,' she repeated, as if tasting the word.

'Yeah. You know, like the _Golden Raspberry_ for motion pictures? It's a symposium where physicians exchange bad experience and learn from each other's mistakes. You know, cases you'd rather forget but others should remember. It's one of the most prestigious events of its kind.'

'O-kay.'

'And I'm gonna win it.'

'Oh...kay.'

'Don't you believe me?'

Rory blinked, taking in the fervent glow in his eyes. She had never pegged Dugray for a competitive person, but they were doctors - competitiveness was basically built into their DNA.

'Good luck, Tristan,' she waved a hand, looking around to see if Jess was in view.

'I don't need luck winning this, I only need the case to make the chairman lose his shit screaming this is the best case failure in history of man,' Tristan's voice came behind her and she chuckled, realizing a second too late that his voice didn't sound necessarily humorous. Maybe he wasn't entirely joking. Doctors and competitions. Oh well.

* * *

'You don't think I can win the Black Saturday competition?' Dr Dugray leaned back into his chair the next day, slurping on his milk shake, his eyes narrowed with a challenging glint.

'It's gonna be hard for you to win when I'm the one winning it,' Dr Geller's carefully nonchalant reply came while she was scribbling something into a folder spread open before her on the coffee table of the break room.

'You?' Tristan arched an eyebrow, putting his shake down.

A tiny smirk appeared at the corners of Paris' mouth.

'Of course.'

'You. Are going to win a competition for doctors' mistakes,' Tristan elaborated, stressing on every word as if the absurdity of the statement weren't obvious enough.

'Malpractice. And yes, I'm going to win anything I issue in. Because have you met me? I'm brilliant in everything I do.'

'Well, that's my point, shortcake - me Tarzan, you Jane. You're brilliant, I'm stupid. Guess who wins the prize for practical stupidity when issuing for a competition?'

'Oh please.'

'You have said it a thousand times, half pint. I'm dumb. It's a fact. It's high time I got a reward for it.'

'You're not winning this.'

'Why not?'

'Because _I_ am. Are you even listening? You said it yourself - I'm brilliant. And when I err, I err brilliantly meaning I make award-winning mistakes,' she sing-sang. 'Now if you excuse me, I have a competition to win,' she said closing the folder and walking out of the break room leaving a sour looking Tristan behind.

...

'If I were to write a book, what would it be called?' Paris heard behind her shoulder as she waited in line in the cafeteria a couple of hours later.

She rolled her eyes, turning to face Tristan who had lined up behind her.

'You can't write a book.'

'True. But let's pretend. For the sake of a fruitful conversation.'

'Ah, I don't know. ' _How to Unhook a Bra for Dummies'_?'

'Exactly.'

Paris blinked, slightly confused.

'That was easy.'

'Because I'm plain as a pikestaff!' Tristan explained, stretching his arms to the side as if saying 'that's me, see?'. 'Leave the mistakes to us professionals, Geller. You go win some real brainiac competition while I cover that anti-reward competition and rock it.'

It was their turn to order.

'Papaya Coconut smoothie for the faultless lady doctor who can do no wrong over here,' Tristan threw an arm over Paris' shoulders, leaning above her to grin at the barista.

'Berry Mint for the obstinate jerk who's hanging off my neck,' Paris ordered for him, dismissing the whiff of Tristan's cologne hitting her nostrils and making her skin break out in gooseflesh.

'We're driving in my car Saturday morning,' Tristan said matter-of-factly. 'It shouldn't take more than four hours so if we leave early we should be able to get there for the better part of the scientific program.'

Paris gave him a look.

'Don't give me that look,' Tristan held his hands up, stepping away from her so he could take their dinks and head for a free table. 'I'm only driving you so I make sure you'll be there to watch me rise and shine as I sneak that award from under your nose.'

'You wish,' Paris scrunched her nose. 'I'll talk to the nanny to get Aiden and Josh if Rory and Jess are busy.'

'They're free,' he said.

Paris gave him a look again.

'Why do you keep looking at me like that? I had a completely random encounter with Rory in her apartment building this morning. I asked.'

He put the smoothies down on a free table and plopped into the booth.

'Again, what were you doing in Rory's apartment building?' Paris narrowed her eyes.

'I took Cerberus for a morning run. Jess was working and it's getting harder for Rory to walk him with the growing human in her belly and all. Plus I felt like some groveling could benefit our nanny-service-providing arrangement.'

'Huh,' Paris said noncommittally. She took a sip of her smoothie, enjoying its taste for a while before speaking again.

'I'm gonna choose the music.'

Tristan shook his point finger no.

'I'll be driving, the driver chooses the music,' he leaned forward, placing his cup back over the table.

Paris rolled her eyes and looked around as if looking for some divine help while arguing with a lunatic.

'If I'm going to spend four hours with you in a closed space _I_ 'm choosing the music.'

Tristan let out an exaggerated sigh.

'Only if you put in some lyrics this time.'

'Oh please,' she waved her hand, 'like your country sap has any lyrics in it.'

'It does!'

'Not anything actually worthy of mentioning,' Paris shrugged unceremoniously.

'What about Johnny Cash?' Tristan gave her a narrow-eyed look, challenging her. Paris rose an eyebrow, setting her mouth to the side in thought.

'Chuck Berry and that's as much as I'm giving.'

Tristan's lips opened into a wide grin and he flashed her a thousand watt smile.

'Deal.'

Paris watched, dumbstruck for a second. This smile was like a sudden stream of light into a dim room. It felt like a punch in the gut, making Paris realize how rarely in fact Tristan let out this particular kind of smile grace his features. It wasn't a smirk, wasn't a teasing grin. It was an honestly happy smile. And it was a shame he didn't smile like that more often, because it was nothing short of beautiful.

* * *

They were sitting in the darkened hall, listening to their Chief of Surgery expose and it felt like the whole conference hall held its breath, a thousand people experiencing the same emotion, something close to scientific revelation unraveling right before their eyes. Beatrice Shefield was presenting a case and it was outstanding, groundbreaking, it was an out of this world experience. Paris wondered if everybody in the hall felt the same way - like she was so out of their league. Because she was. She was a brilliant performer and she held the audience's attention with such a strong magnetic pull, it was impossible to draw your eyes away from her.

Paris reached for Tristan's hand, squeezing his palm.

'I'm having a braingasm,' she whispered excitedly, her voice strained.

Tristan turned to eye her curiously, his eyes studying her profile as he held onto her hand against his thigh, his grip loose but warm and steady nonetheless. They watched the rest of the presentation without exchanging any other comments, their hands joined over his thigh, Paris concentrated over the expose while Tristan was concentrated on her and the way her face reflected the light coming from the multimedia.

* * *

'Your case...' Paris shook her head. 'It was groundbreaking,' she uttered, the awe evident in her voice. Somehow it had become an example of malpractice turned into a revolutionary decision to treat. It was becoming impossible to not feel growing awe and hate for this woman at the same time.

Beatrice shrugged an elegant shoulder, the silk of her blouse moving with the lithe gesture, her look traveling from Tristan to Paris and then back.

'It was meant to,' Beatrice replied, her voice smooth as her eyes locked on Tristan's.

'It was almost as if you'd intentionally dismissed the other options so you could have the surgery performed,' Paris mused, still seemingly a little awestruck.

'Maybe we did,' Beatrice Shefield arched an eyebrow and turned to give Paris a disparaging look.

Paris' look flashed with surprise, her mind instantaneously processing the possibility.

'You didn't. The labs wouldn't come up to it if you hadn't initially planned to treat conservatively.'

A slow smile slid over Beatrice Shefield's lips and her eyes moved back over to Tristan.

'Maybe we didn't then,' she said, not really interested into debating with Paris. She was only standing there having this conversation that was obviously boring her because she was performing some elaborate eye-fucking while looking at Tristan.

'But I wouldn't think twice if I had to,' she said, her eyes set firmly on Tristan. 'I have no trouble figuring out how to turn a situation in my favor,' she concluded before cutting the tantric eye-lock with Tristan and leaving them in the corridor to enter the opening elevator behind them.

Tristan was first to move, leading the way between the sea of gathering people. Paris followed, rendered speechless for a while. They had reached her room, the silence of the hotel corridor somehow suddenly replacing the buzz of the crowded conference hall. Paris entered her key card and the door clicked open. She was halfway through the door when she turned to face him. He was leaning back against the opposite wall, waiting for her to enter her room. She had never pegged him for a typical gentleman. But somehow, with her, he was. It was unlikely and very, very irritating. Somehow it gave her the impression that he never got over the nerd image he had about her back in Chilton. It unnerved her that he could be so close to her, be her friend, witness some of her worst breakdowns, and still stay put in situations that could affect him emotionally. He was so open and so closed off at the same time. Always giving the impression of a sun child gliding along the surface and distributing charm and generosity like it was no big deal.

But there was also this other side to him. That side that would make appearance every time Beatrice Shefield was around. She triggered something in him. Something Paris couldn't quite place but felt reemerging every time she tried to figure him out.

'Please remind me why you had a relationship with this woman.'

He shrugged, looking serious and maybe a little sad.

'She wanted me.'

Like this was an answer.

Paris blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't.

This... _resignation_ was reappearing every time he addressed himself in terms of a relationship, like he was looking down on himself for some reason. Tainted. Maybe that was the word. When he denied her, or when he worried about Aiden taking after his bad example of meaningless interaction with the opposite sex, it was there. When he was around Beatrice Shefield, his one long-term girlfriend (or at least as long-term as a couple of months went), it was there. He referred to himself like he was tainted, unable to build a substantial relationship with a woman even if he tried. Not that he tried. He didn't even try and he was adamant on that being the only option in the cards for him. And he looked sad but so very sure about that fact. It was in such stark contrast to the general lack of shame and the uncensored forwardness of his nature, it bugged Paris to no end because she couldn't find what caused this change in his demeanor.

'There will be drinks down in the lobby in an hour,' Paris said with determination. 'I'll come pick you from your room.'

With that, she gave Tristan a curt nod and closed her door, not waiting to hear his lack of confirmation.

As she got ready in front of the bathroom mirror later on, she couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that she felt compelled to save him despite having no clue what she was trying to save him from. She only knew one thing - if anyone was worth saving, it was that hell of a generous fool Tristan Dugray.

* * *

 _Kiss quick, I've got a line out the door_  
 _Who all think they can save me_  
 _One by one they lay the world at my feet_  
 _One by one they drive me crazy_

* * *

 **TBC**


	34. Kiss Quick, Part 2

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: A very hard, conflicted chapter to write. I've been living the emotions along with the characters, and I've been twisted up in knots for days trying to figure how to make this chapter work. I'm still not sure if the emotions come across right, so your feedback will be especially helpful. Hope you're in for some more in-depth Tristan backstory, because it's coming in the next chapter :)**

* * *

She felt her fingers close tighter around his. His palm was warm. His whole body was warm beside her,warm and solid. Feeling his hand squeeze back, returning the gesture, Paris felt her pulse pick up and lifted her chin, walking straighter next to him as they entered the hotel elevator.

With her heels on, their height difference was still only short of ridiculous, but somehow more bearable. They got some strange kind of symmetry, a weird pair who complimented each other in ways that were unlikely yet didn't completely suck. She caught their reflection into the mirror surface of the elevator doors. Dugray and Geller. Complimenting each other. Huh. That, or they were Jeeves and Wooster.

He cleaned up well. His thick box beard contrasted his military cut, the seamless button up under his slim fit blazer contrasted the dark washed jeans. Paris had made a comment about him looking like a stray homeless man with all that facial hair. Of course she would imply he looked like a tramp because of the beard. Except he didn't. He looked like a _Men's Health_ model, stylish and casual. Because Tristan Dugray made contradiction work.

Paris looked at her own reflection, checking out her high neck sleeveless black dress. The only accent in her outfit was the neck of the dress which was heavily decorated with silver jewelry ornaments. She had thought it looked classy, even some kind of royal maybe, when she bought that dress last year. But now she thought if maybe it was a little prudish, too. She checked out the outfits of a couple of other women who got into the elevator after them. Heavy partying was written all over them and their inviting smiles as they checked Tristan out made her want to roll her eyes.

Paris let out a sigh and braced herself. She wasn't that person. Walking into a party with the former king of Chilton didn't automatically turn her into some petty little miss whose only social weapon was her skimpy outfit. She was a surgeon, for god's sake. A surgeon and a mother. Not some brainless bimbo. She turned to give Tristan a quick glance and found him resting his head back against the elevator wall with his eyes shut, seemingly blocking everything around them. Paris was going to ask him if he was feeling sick but as soon as the elevator doors slid open he straightened and tugged on her hand, leading the way out, his step easy and determined as if nothing had passed through him a minute ago. And when he turned to give her a look before they entered the lobby bar, there was a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his eyes lighting up as soon as they met hers. He was feeling comfortable with her. Something was bothering him but it wasn't her presence around him. If anything, her presence seemed to anchor him, give him a sense of calm.

Their hands were firmly clasped together as they walked into the lobby. She felt like he needed the gesture more than she did, having fallen into some unlikely Tristan-the-Brood stupor. It was rare when he got into one of his moods. However, it felt like he was being more honest when he did, his actions somehow based on instinct rather than pulling off the lively superficial exterior. She remembered the first time she saw him like this. It felt like a lifetime ago, two Christmases ago when they were both finishing their daily shifts and he had gotten into a fight with the father of a patient because the father had hit his daughter. She had seen him like this again when she'd asked him to call Shefield for Nanny's surgery. Then again, after his leg was operated on and he was stuck with a pair of crutches for a whole month. Every time he got into one of his funks, there was a solid reason for it.

Paris held on to him. Because she intuitively felt that he needed that. A reminder of her presence, her silent support somehow transpiring between them, pulling him out whenever he sank into his own thoughts.

And when they spotted the groups of people having drinks chatting, she told herself that she, Paris Geller, was the one who would bring that amazing smile over his features. Not any of the fabulous bombshells around here. She was the one who brought him peace while gorgeous Beatrice Shefield was making him feel contrite. Paris tried to concentrate on his demeanor, the slightly protective stance as they leaned over the counter to order their drinks. The way he would look around, his eyes leisurely scanning the surroundings, standing with his legs further apart, his whole frame somehow wider than usual, circling her as the bar got more and more crowded.

Music was getting louder, people were getting tipsier. The party crowd dancing and mingling all around them, people looking for a quick thrill before returning back to the mundane stress of everyday life.

Paris was still sporting a half-full glass of Martini while Dugray was hovering over his untouched beer. They were such dorks right now. Such complete nerds. No party spirit whatsoever. Maybe it was contagious. Maybe she had infected him with disdain for the feeble-minded.

Something was happening to him, she thought. But she couldn't pinpoint what. She considered the possibility of her projecting her own feelings onto him. Who knew, maybe she was the one who was feeling confused and was getting clingy, trying to read more into his thoughtfulness than there was. Maybe he was simply bored and that was why he was so sullen. Nah. She knew better than that.

She replayed the last forty-five minutes in her head. As they started their way to the bar, she gave his palm a reassuring squeeze before letting go, being forced to do so as people came and talked to them, exchanging pleasantries. Hands were shaken, socially required hugs were exchanged. And for the first time in forever Paris was the social speaker for the two of them. Because tonight Tristan wasn't his usual chit-chat self. He exchanged nods, managed brief lines with the colleagues who stopped to greet them, but he didn't indulge into small talk or any kind of jokes whatsoever.

Paris wondered if he was waiting for Beatrice to appear from somewhere. If the ex-girlfriend vixen was the reason why he was so high strung, why his mind was working on overdrive while his outward posture was silently distraught from his loud surroundings. There were many fancy chicks around there too. Maybe he was frustrated because he was stuck with Chilton's nerd nazi instead of heavy partying with a couple of oversexed medical graduates. Paris stole a quick sideways glance. Tristan Dugray didn't look like he was regretting missing the chance to party. He was silent, completely drawn into his own head. And sad. Maybe it was finally safe to acknowledge the obvious. He was sad.

'Are you okay?' Paris asked touching his arm, studying him with concern.

He took a breath and put his hands on his hips and bit on his lower lip, looking to the side. Then looked at her, shaking his head. His eyes were so blue. So blue and so bruised, it made her feel a pull in her chest.

Paris gave Tristan a quick nod and grabbed her purse, taking his hand.

'Okay, let's bail,' she said leading him out of the bar.

As they walked out into the crispy spring air, they made a couple of steps stopping by a small clearing with two benches probably intended for a smoking area. It was still cold in the evenings despite being the end of March and the area was secluded.

She arched an eyebrow and turned to give him a look, a slight smirk grazing the corner of her mouth.

'Better?'

He returned her smirk and his whole posture relaxed, seemingly at ease again. Their eyes locked and there was a light in his, a bout of nervous energy she caught on as his gaze moved between her eyes, as if searching for something before he lowered his gaze, suddenly self-conscious.

Paris narrowed her eyes.

'Any particular reason why you turned all Hulk back there?' she pointed back towards the hotel.

Tristan shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, kicking a cobblestone as he stepped from one foot to the other.

'You're worse than me when you get moody,' Paris shook her head and wrapped the ends of her coat tighter around herself, stepping from foot to foot in an attempt to keep herself warm. 'At least I bitch around and scream at people to get their shit together. You clam in and turn completely blank,' she commented, her voice void of judgement.

Tristan looked up, his smirk reappearing but hardly reaching his eyes.

'Are you dying of something incurable?' Paris clipped, not entirely joking.

That produced a short laugh from him. At least he didn't look like he was dying.

'Dugray, seriously, what's going on?'

'I've been thinking,' Tristan said, running a palm down his nape, kicking another stone as his eyes roamed the pavement under his feet.

'I knew something was entirely wrong with the Universe as soon as you came out of your room wearing a shirt without a ridiculous cartoon print on it,' Paris huffed and made a step closer, searching his gaze. 'Wanna talk about it?' she asked, her voice much softer.

His lips stretched into a brief smile before he shrugged and his nose scrunched.

'Not really.'

Paris groaned, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated 'I knew I shouldn't waste my time with you' fashion.

'I'm so gonna regret this,' she sighed, resting her forehead against the tips of her thumb and middle finger. After a short pause, she asked, her voice laced with eternal patience. 'What were you thinking about?'

A quick smile touched the corners of his lips as he looked up at her. Of course he would find her frustration amusing. Then he got thoughtful again, moving to sit on one of the benches.

'Do you remember when Josh asked you what changed when people grew up?'

'Eh?'

Tristan clasped his hands together, leaning both elbows over his knees.

'He asked you if little boys like him were capable of big love. If he would love his new toys more when he grew up. If you loved him more than he could love you because you were older and maybe your love was bigger too.'

Paris blinked.

'Oh...kay.'

Tristan's lips curled into a small smile.

'You told him that love was the same when you were four years old and when you were forty. But while four year olds understood love as hugging what you love, when you grew older you realized love meant responsibility. And four year olds thought holding on to what they loved was a testament to their love while grown ups learned to let what they loved free. You told him that the love was the same, we were the ones who changed.'

Paris squinted slightly.

'I said that?'

'Yeah,' Tristan nodded thoughtfully.

'Huh.'

'It was a wise thing to say to a four year old.'

'Very funny,' Paris rolled her eyes.

Tristan's brows furrowed.

'I mean it. It was wise. And kids are able to understand much more wise stuff than they're given credit for. Especially Josh. He is a pretty smart kid.'

'O-kay,' Paris nodded slowly, not really getting where Tristan was getting with all this. 'And you were thinking about me talking life concept semantics with my four year old instead of indulging into the heat of a party because...?' she made a meaningful pause, gesturing with her hand to prompt him to continue.

'I just thought about it. You asked me what I was thinking about and that's it, so yeah,' he lifted a shoulder.

He stood resting his elbows over his knees with his head hung low for a while before he tilted his head to the side to look up at her.

Paris rose an eyebrow, giving him a 'don't you bullshit me' stare. He blinked, his look open and void of any traces of bias.

Paris let out a sigh and moved to sit next to him.

'You're weird, you know that right?' she asked, leaning both arms over her crossed legs, partly mirroring his position.

'I've never seen you so sad before,' she admitted quietly.

He shrugged again, the ghost of a sour smile back over his lips.

'It's sad there aren't more Paris Gellers in the world.'

Paris blinked, trying to decide if he was bullshitting her.

'You're so weird,' she let out a confused chuckle.

He looked at her, his blue eyes boring into hers.

'And you're amazing.'

They fell into an eyelock before Tristan was the first to break the spell, standing off the bench.

'Come on, starry-eyed hot stuff,' he reached out a hand to offer to her, 'Let's go before I've done something stupid.'

He took her hand and led her back in the direction of the hotel. Paris tugged on his hand, making him stop.

'Why are you fighting this so bad?' she asked, her tone traced by hurt and confusion.

Tristan's face contorted with a myriad of emotions. Apology, plead, apprehension. He breathed in to compose himself.

He reached behind her head and pulled her in for a hug, his lips pressing over her forehead.

'Because I can't lose you,' his voice came low, scratchy with emotion.

And as he led the way back, walking her to her hotel room and waiting against the opposite wall until she closed the door, Paris had one question playing on repeat in her head.

 _What happened to you, Dugray? What happened to you to scare you so bad?_

* * *

 **TBC**


	35. Run Away, Little Boy

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Transcript lines belong to ASP and the original GG series. Song lyrics used belong to Grace Pitts. The chapter title is ripped off the original series' 2.09 episode title (the one in which Tristan's character exits the show). Because I felt like it suited the chapter right.  
_

 **A/N: This chapter is built around a series of FLASHBACKS, trying to catch up on Tristan's character through readdressing some past events from Tristan's POV. Hope this chapter answers some of your questions regarding my take on his character in this story. Also, I hope it keeps you interested in the character's future development.**

 **I'd really love to know what you think, because for most of you, I'm still in the dark as to what you make of this story :)  
**

* * *

 **2000, Dugray's Family House**

Tristan Dugray closed the front door and stopped in the hallway, looking at the expensive pair of leather shoes set neatly by the door. Fancy man's leather shoes, their heels clean against the white marble of the hallway floor.

Tristan heard his mother's melodic voice from the dining room, and then a rich deep male voice, followed by a bout of light laughter. His mother. Laughing. It was something so foreign, it drew Tristan towards the dining room like a magnet.

As he entered the room he saw his mother, beautiful as ever, leaning over the back of one of the dining chairs holding a glass of white wine. Sitting in one of the dining chairs, swirling a glass of what was probably scotch between his long fingers, was a tall man dressed in a light beige three piece suit, looking smug and far too comfortable in their dining room for Tristan's liking.

As soon as she spotted Tristan, his mother's features flattened. She had an expression which he thought was reserved for him. It could be best described as irritated indifference.

'Shoes,' was the only thing his mother said before she gave him a look laced with disdain. She was good at giving him these. Tristan supposed most mothers of rebellious teenage brats like him were.

Tristan's look switched from his mother to the man sitting on the chair. The man looked in is mid thirties and everything about him looked posh. Tristan's eyes narrowed.

The man stood up and stretched the hand that wasn't holding the scotch towards Tristan.

'Steven Walsh,' he introduced himself. His voice was indeed rich and deep.

Tristan looked between his mother and the stretched hand of the man whose smile seemed to grow wider as he took in Tristan's defensive stance. As his smile grew wider, it revealed two rows of spotless white teeth. Everything about this man seemed clean and fancy.

'You must be Tristan,' Steven Walsh suggested. 'I'm a colleague of your father's,' he explained, not looking the least bit uncomfortable. 'I came by to drop off some papers for him but he wasn't here so your mom was so nice to suggest I wait until he comes back.'

Tristan looked at the hand that was still stretched out before him and shook it once, his eyes never leaving the stranger's.

After that day Tristan never saw Steven Walsh's leather shoes in the place of his father's suede ones in their hallway. Neither did he hear his mother's laughter again.

* * *

 **2001, Madeline's Stepfather's House**

'Tristan stop it,' Summer sighed.

'You're making me chase you around the whole party,' Tristan gestured behind them where the party was still going on.

'Just trying to have fun,' Summer answered, unfazed.

'Ok you won't talk to me, you won't dance with me, why the hell did you even come with me?!' Tristan demanded.

Summer gave him a look before turning her back to him.

'Stop yelling.'

Tristan followed her, his voice sounding slightly pleading.

'Summer, please. Can we just go?'

'No.'

'Please.'

'No. I'm sick of fighting with you. I'm sick of hearing 20 times a day 'You're my girlfriend'.'

Tristan looked around them where a group of their classmates was watching on, enjoying the show.

'Ok could we possibly do this somewhere were a roomful of people aren't staring at us?'

Summer looked at him and put a peanut into her mouth.

'I think we should break up,' she said.

'Ok, I really want to go outside and talk about this,' Tristan insisted.

'Then go,' Summer shrugged. 'Bye.'

With that, she left.

'Summer come on!' he called behind her. He looked around and saw Rory who looked back down at the open book she had in her lap, shook his head and left.

Tristan remembered his father's voice when he had asked him about Steven Walsh. It had been months ago but Tristan still remembered his father's sigh. The old man had said that Steven Walsh was a colleague of his. As Tristan wouldn't let it go, his father had let another long sigh. He looked tired and maybe a little irritated that he had to go through this conversation with his son. Tristan's obvious unease and general displeasure with Steven Walsh's very existence was met by his father's brusque response - he and his mother had come to terms with each other's choices and they were content with the way they lived their lives. That's the response Tristan got. His father said one more thing. He had asked Tristan to stop mouthing off to his mother about her longer shopping tours lately, because he was making her uncomfortable.

Maybe it wasn't a big deal, Tristan thought. Maybe dancing with someone else was no big deal. Locking yourself in the bathroom with someone who wasn't your boyfriend was no big deal. Neither was laughing at someone's jokes or having another man's leather shoes in your hallway. Maybe one day he would understand how this all worked. However, he wasn't there yet. Tristan looked around the house, searching for a quiet place to sit and gather his thoughts. Soon enough, there was a smaller room with a piano in it. Tristan walked inside and sat by the piano, trying the keys absently.

* * *

 **2002, Miss** **Patty's Studio**

'Here's to my love. Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick... Line?'

Paris opened her arms, trying not very successfully to keep her frustration at bay. She was something, that smart nazi.

'Thus with a kiss, I die,' Paris said. 'How hard is that to remember?'

'Thus with a kiss, I die,' Tristan repeated. 'Right. And then I kiss her, right?'

'Yes. You say 'Thus with a kiss, I die.' Then you kiss her and die,' Paris explained impatiently. Tristan smirked. That was exactly what he'd wanted to hear.

'Why are you smiling?' Paris asked. 'You think this is a joke? The performance is tomorrow.'

Tristan blinked, playing dumb.

'Wait, tomorrow? Oh my God. I totally missed it the first forty-seven times you said it,' he quipped.

Paris' eyes flashed dangerously.

'I warned you. I am not going to fail this because of you. I will replace you with Brad in a second.'

Brad shook his head from the bench he had been sitting on, right next to Madeline and Louise.

'Oh, dear God, no,' the poor guy shook his head.

Rory who had been lying 'dead' on the wooden table opened her eyes, turning her head to face Paris.

'Can we just get through the scene?

'Please,' Madeline supported her.

Paris sighed with resignation.

'Fine. But yell 'Line' once more and you're out,' she warned Tristan right before turning back to Brad. 'Start memorizing.'

'Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick,' Tristan began again. 'Thus with a kiss, I die.'

Tristan paused above Rory, looked up and then pulled back deliberately, waiting. That stupid Bagboy character could watch the show.

'What?' Paris asked, her voice getting a shrill.

'Well, it's just, with this being our last kiss and all, it makes me think about our first kiss,' Tristan explained. 'You know, at the party,' Tristan continued, his look switching between Rory and Bagboy.

Rory lifted herself to sit on the wooden table.

'What?'

'Lie down, you're dead,' Paris reprimanded.

'We all are,' Louise groaned.

'You remember the kiss,' Tristan insisted, looking at a dazed Rory. Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Game on. 'In Act 1 at the Capulet's masked party?'

'What about it?' Paris demanded.

'Well, I was just trying to think of something that would make this kiss as special as that one,' Tristan explained, his look switching to Paris but really, he was talking to Rory.

'Tristan,' Rory pleaded.

'I thought she could cry,' he turned back towards Rory, his tone letting some of the accusation he'd been trying to hide show.

'What?' Rory asked.

'She's dead,' Paris cut in. Then, turning towards Rory, 'You're dead, lie down.'

Tristan continued, his eyes still set on Rory, challenging her to prove him wrong. Once it was out, hell with it, he was getting his answers.

'Yeah, but that's the beauty of it. No one would expect her to cry,' Tristan said, his eyes boring into Rory's.

'I would,' Dean said somewhere behind Paris.

'You know, funny you should say that…' Tristan pointed a finger at the Bagboy, immediately ready to start a fight. His fists were itching since before he got into this stupid studio, he could really use some release of the pent up tension.

Rory hopped off the table, mumbling 'I need to take five.'

'You know what?' Paris let out a sigh, turning towards everyone. 'Let's all take five. That way you can all cancel whatever plans you had tonight because we are staying here until we get this right.'

Brad pulled out his cell phone.

'Who could you possibly be calling?' Louise snapped at him before walking away, holding her own mobile by her ear.

Tristan watched as Rory walked over to Bagboy. They talked for a while and then the tall jerk left, giving Tristan a warning look before he gave Rory a peck on the lips and left.

A peck on the lips? Really? What was Mary doing with this loser? If she had been Tristan's girlfriend, she would be still feeling the effect of his lips over hers. Pecks on the lips were alright for kindergartners. For retired accountants. For people who no longer cared about each other. Pecks on the lips were not meant for teenage couples, especially ones that had one Rory Gilmore in them. What did she see in that jerk?

'Now I noticed you didn't cry when you kissed him,' Tristan pointed out, moving to stand before Rory. 'I'm starting to feel a little insecure,' he pointed towards himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

'What is wrong with you?' Rory asked incredulously.

What's wrong was he was falling for the wrong girl, aiming out of his league but fuck it, he really wanted her.

Tristan put both his hands up, palms out.

'Whoa, I think I liked you better comatose.'

'I thought you weren't going to say anything,' she insisted, ignoring his attempt to stall.

Tristan looked around.

'Did I say that?' he asked, playing dumb.

'You make it impossible for anyone to be nice to you. No wonder you had to join our group. Anyone who's actually suffered through the experience of going out with you would absolutely know better-' Rory ranted, the sound of his pager cutting her off.

Tristan threw a look at his pager, using the moment to recuperate, trying to keep his eyes from wincing but not really sure she hadn't caught the way her words had hit him just right.

'Gee, I really wish we could continue your analysis on how pathetic I am,' he excused himself on his way out, hoping his sarcasm would mask the fact that as honest and critical her lash out was, he actually agreed with her. Maybe some people weren't meant to be nice to. 'Unfortunately, I have to meet some friends,' he shrugged his jacket on and left the studio before he got any more proof that he didn't belong here. That was the thing, he thought as he dialed Bowman's number. He didn't belong anywhere.

* * *

 **Chilton's Hallway**

'I knew he was going to do this, but no one wanted to listen to me,' Paris fumed. 'It was all, let's make Tristan Romeo, he's hot.'

'What about Brad?' Rory suggested.

'Brad transferred schools,' Paris clipped.

He walked up to them, Paris lashing at him instantaneously.

'Where have you been? You have to get dressed, we're on in ten minutes.'

Tristan scratched the back of his head.

'Can't.'

'What?' Paris asked, no doubt more than ready to yell at him.

'Actually, my dad had me pulled out of school. He…'

Paris walked away. Tristan's look followed her.

'And is she unhappy,' he commented.

Rory turned towards him to give him an incredulous look.

'What do you mean he had you pulled out of school? What happened?'

Everything?

'Nothing.' He shrugged. 'Just ticked the old man off, that's all,' he tried to brush off.

'By doing _what_?'

By being the son they never wanted. By causing trouble to attract attention. By rebelling against his parents' neglect, against people labeling him without taking a minute to really know him. By doing stupid stuff, thus proving them right. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He shook his head, not really into explaining.

'Tristan, come on, tell me,' Rory insisted, her voice showing concern.

'I got in some trouble,' he admitted vaguely.

'Trouble involving?' she prompted.

Now that he had to say it out loud, it did sound stupid. Aah.

'Involving Duncan and Bowman, and Bowman's dad's safe,' Tristan shrugged.

Rory's eyes went wide. It was official. He, Tristan Dugray, had pulled the most stupid stunt in history of man. Because he had needed something to change. He needed to something fucking change or he was gonna go insane.

'Oh no.'

'I mean, Bowman had a key,' Tristan tried to reason, his own voice sounding unconvincing even to himself. 'It was supposed to be no big deal. And the crazy silent alarm kicked in...'

'You broke into Bowman's dad's safe?' Rory repeated, stressing on every word.

Tristan sighed.

'Yes.'

'Stupid.'

He looked down.

'Yes.'

'Well, okay, you can apologize,' Rory reasoned. Always the optimist. Oh, Mary. 'And you can put back the money and you can explain that, I don't know, you were going through something.

'I was, I was going through his safe,' Tristan tried to joke.

'Why would you do this?'

Because I'm a mess.

'I don't know,' he shrugged. 'I guess that's something I can ponder at military school.

'Military school?'

'The police are letting our parents handle it, and in my case that means military school in North Carolina,' Tristan explained.

'I don't know what to say,' Rory uttered.

'Well, I imagine you're overwhelmed with the relief in knowing that soon I will be gone.'

Like everybody else.

'I'm so sorry,' she said, looking genuinely sorry. In another life, maybe he would be someone who'd deserve someone like her to care about him. In another life.

'Well, I'm a big boy,' he shrugged, not wanting her to feel bad. 'I can handle it.'

He had no fucking idea how he was gonna handle it.

'There's nothing you can…' Rory tried but was cut by his father's voice, coming from down the hall,

'Tristan.'

Tristan slowly turned back to meet his father's impatient gaze.

'Come on.'

Tristan threw a look at Bagboy who was standing a couple of feet away, always lurking around her like some kind of creepy bodyguard.

'I gotta go,' Tristan sighed. 'So, I might kiss you goodbye but, uh, your boyfriend's watching. Take care of yourself...' he forced himself to smile until a smile appeared over her lips too, 'Mary.'

With that, Tristan gave her a nod and walked away, the one person who might ever miss him left behind his back.

* * *

 _Pick up your things and run_  
 _Don't bother packing it up this box is far too small_

He didn't think he remembered how to cry like a little boy. He did.

That day, when he asked, _begged_ her to talk his father out of sending him to North Carolina, he cried like a little boy. He pleaded with her to not let him go. Not like this. Not this way. Not that far.

What shocked him was the ease with which she'd done it. Like cutting a flimsy thread, she'd dismissed him from her life. He became the piece of furniture they moved away to not have to watch the scratches every day.

It shouldn't have been such a surprise, he would realize months later, when he replayed that day in his head. He saw the lack of sympathy and love in his own mother's eyes as he grew up to be the son she never understood and never really tried to. He had been a second child, coming after his older sister, and he'd always suspected he hadn't been planned. In his mother's case, unplanned probably equaled unwanted. His mother had given birth to him but she'd never been engaged into raising him. She didn't feel a need to get close to him or understand him. He didn't understand her either. But boy did he love her. He loved her blindly, desperately, he loved her like a drowning man holding on to a straw and he did it as best as he could. And it didn't matter. It went by unnoticed, unaddressed. Maybe it was just the way it was, he supposed. Maybe some mothers blamed their children for not being free to live their lives differently.

He couldn't tell if it was breaking into Bowman's dad's safe drawing the last straw, or if they simply needed an excuse to get rid of him and opportunity presented itself. His sister was off to college, now that he would be gone too his parents could have the whole house to themselves. Once he was gone, they could have a pair of posh man's leather shoes in the hallway and never address that.

He always thought she was beautiful. With her pure smooth skin and her shiny hair styled into a sophisticated updo, always in one of her impeccable outfits, his mom was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He had begged her not to let him go. She was so pretty, her cool composure making her look poised and collected. And in the car on the way to the airport Tristan had asked his father,

'What if she tells you to not send me off?'

'She won't,' his father had answered.

'What if she decides you're too radical, what if she changes her mind and decides to stop you?' Tristan didn't give up.

His father had put a palm on Tristan's shoulder and repeated,

'She won't.'

'How can you be so sure?' Tristan insisted.

'Because it was her idea,' his father had said.

Just like that, she had smashed his heart and she hadn't even been trying. God, she had smashed his heart and she hadn't even _noticed_.

And for years - _years_ \- he would wait. He would hope she would find a reason to miss him, a reason to forgive whatever she blamed him for.

It wasn't that he wasn't capable of feeling anger. Oh, he was. It was the first discernible emotion he knew as a teenager. It was powerful and very demanding. But since his first day in North Carolina, he found that some hardcore cardio training leading to utter exhaustion helped the mind calm down. Military school gave you a lot of time to think. Plenty of time to train. And when you didn't wanna think, there was always the option to train more. Physical activity made him feel better. There were physical activities that brought him to complete and utter exhaustion. He liked the hum of his body, the numbness of his mind after a rough training. There were also physical activities involving some very willing representatives of the opposite sex and they brought on some quite welcome pleasure as well. And he learned to weave his way through life, finding out that distractions couldn't solve all of your problems but boy did they make most of them more bearable. And anger would always be an issue but he knew how to keep it in check because in time he learned how to brace himself and discipline was something Military school would teach you.

Tristan Dugray had grown up in an estranged family where people acted out of some unknown to him logic, detached from any kind of warm feeling. He became that boy who accepted that his family didn't want him but that fact never stopped him from smiling. Because, he was like that. He didn't hold grudges, not the way most people did. He didn't become bitter with the whole world. He didn't even feel vengeance towards his dad or mom. He learned not to aim out of his league, trying to be wise about emotional stuff, avoiding it completely. It wasn't that he didn't feel kindness for other people. He simply chose his battles and didn't get into ones he was sure to lose. And he knew better than to ask for love that never belonged to him in the first place.

In some ways, North Carolina had been good for him. It gave him space, gave him room to breathe, away from the toxic influence of his numb, emotionless parents. Tristan got a renewed sense of purpose, his body and mind starting for the first time in his life to work in unison. He got nice enough grades, and when the time to apply for college came, he chose only top specialties that would grant him financial independence. He got the best results from his class. Not that it was a surprise. He'd never really considered himself stupid. He was quick to learn and his brain could filter what was important from what was just filler information. One of the perks of being sent off to North Carolina with no friends or family whatsoever was that you got a lot of time on your hands. And Tristan managed to get into Medical school on a half scholarship, which wasn't exactly stellar but was good enough to get him through. And with his newfound determination, he did pull through. Life went on.

* * *

 _You packed your bags, and you cried goodbye to your mother_  
 _And you walked out the door, with the whole world on your shoulders_

When he got the letter that said he had been one of the picked for working in a border refugee camp in Turkey, he went to Hartford to visit. It was the shortest visit in history of man. He didn't even know what he had hoped for. For her to be worried? To try and stop him? To feel proud of him? To apologize to him for not wanting him around and sending him off to North Carolina? God knows what he had thought. He just hoped she would... react.

Refugee camps were not the same as war zones. But they were the next closest thing. She might never have the chance to see him again. He had foolishly hoped his mother would for once, finally, react. She didn't. And that was the exact moment when he decided to leave it alone. After that last cry for attention, he decided he was old enough and grown up enough to live his life on his own terms. He was twenty-five at the time, it was a good age to start living your life facing forward instead of backward. As he boarded the plane to Turkey a couple of days later, he boarded with no regrets.

 _Pick up your things and run_  
 _Don't bother packing it up this box is far too small_

 _Because I..._ _I've been waiting all along_  
 _I've been waiting all along_  
 _Just for you to love_

* * *

 **TBC**


	36. Let's Find Out

_**Disclaimer : Nothing's mine.**_

 **A/N: Thank you for your reviews! For taking the time to let me know what you think, and also for responding when I asked you to share your opinion, because feedback keeps me going :)**

 **After giving this some final thought, I changed the rating to M. To everybody who's been wondering if Tristan/Paris pairing is ever going to work. A little crazy chapter but I think I love the way it came out. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

The sound of her scream was shrill and loud, followed by a row of expletives.

Rory turned her head in the direction of the kitchen and stood up, heading for the source of the shrill cry as fast as her seven months pregnant belly allowed her. She found Paris wrapping her bleeding palm into a kitchen cloth.

Paris looked up, worry etched onto her features.

'It's deep,' she told Rory, her voice full of concern.

Every surgeon knew what it meant to hurt your right palm. Especially in a stupid cooking accident, it was about the most stupid thing one could let happen. Why should she have suggested to cut the damn salad instead of Rory? Cooking Easter Lunch at Jess and Rory's had seemed like a good idea, especially with Josh gone to his father's for Spring break. Not such a good idea anymore.

'You alright?' Jess came into the room panting, a grocery bag still under his right arm as he put a palm over Rory's shoulder, slightly turning her towards himself to inspect her for injuries. 'I heard a scream.'

'Paris cut herself, it's deep. Call Tristan.' Rory said, worry evident in her own voice.

Jess threw a look at Paris' hand, the cloth almost dripping with blood.

'I'm calling a cab,' Jess said, leaving the grocery bag down on the floor and taking his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans. 'Rory, take some ice from the fridge. The less it swells, the better the edges can be stitched.'

* * *

'Are you gonna fix my hand?' Paris asked biting on her lip as she watched him examine her palm with his brows pulled into a deep frown. They were sitting on stools across a portable surgical table in the ER.

'I need you to fix my hand. I can't be a surgeon without my right hand,' Paris continued, feeling restless.

'Stop gesturing and let me have a look,' Tristan said calmly.

'I need you to fix it. Seriously, Tristan, if you can't do it, I need to find someone brilliant and have it fixed right away.'

'I can fix it,' he said, his tone even as he leaned to inspect the cut closer, tuning her palm towards the portable operating light above their heads.

'Are you sure? Like, a hundred percent sure. We can't count on odds here, Mr Russian Roulette,' Paris wouldn't give up. 'I'm not gonna bet my professional future on a gamble, I need this to be an all or nothing answer. So are you gonna be able to fix my hand, yes or no?'

'Will you keep quiet?' Tristan asked, letting her hand rest on the table as he turned to the side and took out a surgical kit and unrolled its contents over the table. 'I need you to let me focus,' he mumbled as his eyes scanned the surgical sutures and stitch needles. 'I can't focus with you rambling.'

'I'm nervous,' Paris let out a shaky sigh. 'I ramble when I'm nervous. Are you nervous? Are you nervous because you can't fix my hand? Am I gonna become a cripple because you can't fix my hand?' Paris shot out, seemingly unable to stop herself from rambling on.

'Keep quiet,' Tristan frowned as he inspected her palm again, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

'What do you see?' Paris prodded. 'Are there any tendons affected? Am I gonna be forced to reconsider my stellar future as a badass surgeon and take a meek desk job? Are you gonna tell my fortune by looking at my palm? Are you gonna deliver me with the news that will shatter all I've ever worked for? Is this why you're frowning? Why are you frowning? And why aren't you talking? Normally you're all chitty-chat and I can't make you shut up and now you're silent. Why are you silent? Is it that bad? Is that why you're so silent?'

'I'm trying to choose the tendon suture,' Tristan said thoughtfully, seemingly ignoring her nervous babble.

'So there _is_ a cut tendon. You need suture, so there's gonna be stitching and then scarring, and scarring pulls the tendon in and pulling means contraction and if contraction turns bad, I'm gonna just have to-'

She was cut short by his lips closing on hers, his tongue making a quick entry into her mouth as she gasped. His tongue swept over the inside of her lower lip before stroking on it once and moving on to her upper lip. He sucked on it chastely and then his lips pressed on hers into a half closed mouth kiss before pulling away and sitting back on his stool across the surgical table, concentrating on her hand which he still held between his as if he hadn't just blown her mind.

Paris blinked, her ears pounding, her mouth still half open in a gasp, his taste still fresh on her lips. Her mind was completely numb for some time. She couldn't tell for how long. She had no idea. She couldn't tell her own name for a while. She stared at him as he cleaned the cut on her palm and started working slowly, methodically, injecting local anesthetic into the pad of her thumb and then the base of her index finger before suturing her cut flesh layer by layer.

* * *

Tristan registered the scene before him and with a couple of wide strides he was by the hospital bed, pulling her into a hug.

'Hey, what's going on?' he asked sitting down by her side.

He stroked her back and her sides, pulling back to scan her face and then her body, looking for injuries.

'Is it your hand?'

Tristan took her wrist and turned her palm so he could inspect it.

Paris shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of the hand free from his hold.

He brought her against his chest, kissing the top of her head.

'It's gonna be okay,' he hushed her. 'Is this because you're worried about the cut?' he asked, his voice a soft murmur. 'Are you worried I didn't stitch it right? It's gonna heal perfectly, I swear,' he stroked the back of her head. 'If anything, I think you're even gonna be better with your right hand than you ever were before,' he joked, rocking her gently as her hiccups wouldn't subside.

'It's a bear.'

'What?'

'A Christmas Teddy-bear,' Paris sniffed. 'With Christmas lights wrapped around it. And there are old people,' she started sobbing again. 'Why are commercials with old people so damn touching?'

Tristan drew back, his eyes narrowing. He heard a Christmas song somewhere behind his back and turned to see her laptop open on the other end of the bed, a Christmas commercial playing. It was featuring some dream American family and homeless old people coming through the door for Christmas dinner, no doubt an act of superhuman charity on the happy family's side. Normally, Paris would make fun of the superficial way those commercials were made. Geez, normally _Tristan_ would make fun of these commercials, and he was immune to a lot of fluff. Still.

'It's the beginning of April,' Tristan suggested, for some reason thinking that this piece of information should be relevant in this case.

'Christmas commercials are so fucking emotional,' Paris sniffled again, shaking with another sob as she rested her forehead against his shoulder.

'Paris,' Tristan began carefully, 'are you pulling an elaborate prank on me?' he asked slowly, articulately.

'I've been feeling overtly emotional ever since the preppy nurse gave me my pain medication,' Paris wobbled. 'I did some simple research and my best guess is she stupidly switched my meds with the hormonal superpill for the reproductively-challenged woman in the next room.'

Paris shook with another sob, shaking her head.

'It's so stupid. I'm drugged with some super potent female hormonal dope,' she sobbed. 'You smell so good,' she sighed then, moving to sniff his neck. Tristan went still against her as she leaned more into him.

'You smell like wind and ocean,' she rubbed her nose against his jaw. 'I'm a hormonal mess,' Paris sighed, feeling for his arms and holding on to his elbows as she leaned in and pressed her mouth against his.

Tristan pulled back, his brows knit tightly.

'Paris,' he warned, his voice low.

'You're always leaving me high and dry,' she groaned, nuzzling his neck. 'You're teasing the hell out of me.'

Funny she would be the one saying that since she was trying to crawl up his lap. Tristan took a sharp breath in, forcing himself to stay put.

'Okay, enough,' he let out a long exhale as he stood up, keeping his hands on her shoulders both for the sake of steadying her onto the bed and keeping her at an arm's length. 'What are you doing?' he asked, trying to get his own breathing under control.

Paris looked up at him, her eyes shooting daggers before she let out a resigned sigh, her shoulders momentarily sagging.

'It's the stupid hormones,' she sniffed, wiping at her left eye. 'They make me emotional and horny,' she said, angrily wiping at her poor left eye. Why was one of her eyes always tearing up more than the other?

'Forget it,' she shook her head, reaching for her mobile on the night stand. 'I'll call Matt, at least he doesn't seem so appalled by the prospect of engaging into a PG thirteen interaction with me.'

Tristan bit on the tip of his tongue, his look sweeping around the room. He made a couple of steps to walk by the door and put his hand on the door handle.

'Bye, _friend_ ,' Paris sniffed, her voice desperately trying to sound snarky despite the tears.

To her surprise, instead of opening the door to leave, Tristan turned the key and then shut the blinds. Then, with an efficient couple of strides, he was back by the bed, pulling her up by the arms. He threw a last look around the room, finalizing his game plan. His hands took hold of her hips, navigating her backwards until her back hit the wall.

'Mind your palm,' he murmured as his grip on her hips tightened and he lifted her up, her legs instinctively going around his waist. He stepped closer so that their lower bodies made full contact and she groaned as she felt him pressing hard against her.

'Try not to make too much noise,' he instructed.

She was about to say something snarky but he ground against her and she moaned. The feeling, even through their clothes, didn't come close to anything she had experienced lately. It was so much better. It had to be because of all the pent up angst through the months of dancing around each other.

He moved and she moaned again, louder, feeling like her chest was about to explode with the piling emotions. He stilled against her before moving back and grinding against her, this time applying more pressure.

Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands moved to grip onto his shoulders but he lifted a hand to take hold onto her right wrist and leaned more into her so that her elbow was placed over his shoulder, moving her bandaged hand further away from potential contact. 'Mind your palm,' he repeated, his voice strained and low. Her left hand moved to grip the side of his neck, her nails grazing his nape which caused his hips to jerk involuntarily, hitting another angle. 'Shit,' both of them hissed at the new sense of friction.

'How come you dry humping me feels so much better than having actual sex with a man who worships me?' she breathed.

He went rigid under her for a moment, the muscles of his whole body straining, as if bracing himself. And when he moved again, he created a steady rhythm. When she got close he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries and keeping her steady until she rode her high.

They stood still for a moment, foreheads touching, labored breaths colliding, until their brains caught up with what just happened.

She felt limp in his arms, feeling completely weightless. After taking another moment, Tristan slowly moved back to put her down on her wobbly feet, taking special care to move her right hand off his shoulder without hurting her dressed palm. And next thing Paris knew, he was off unlocking the door and walking out of her hospital room.

* * *

As soon as she opened the door to her apartment Tristan moved to walk in, passing her by.

Paris narrowed her eyes and followed him into her living room.

Thankfully, the effect of the hormonal bomb had mostly washed away and she was clear-headed again. She watched as Tristan paced around her apartment, looking like a caged animal. He ran both hand through his hair, his features drawn into a strained expression.

'I tried to get you out of my head,' he muttered, more to himself than for her to hear. 'I told myself I was above that. I can divide physical stuff from other stuff. It's always been blue balls when it comes to you. I should've known better,' he rambled.

Paris stood, watching him with her arms crossed before her chest, her own expression a strained one. He was struggling, his internal battle much more pronounced now that he couldn't keep frustration at bay and she was watching him with her mind not clouded by potent chemical substances.

'I must have set a record in the history of jacking off, and I thought it could go on like this, that I could keep that in check,' he continued, seemingly oblivious to her presence in the room. It was ridiculous since they were in her apartment. _He_ had come into her apartment. And he was oblivious to her presence into her own place. Into her own place where he had come to look for her. But the ridiculousness of the situation didn't seem to be relevant at the moment. He was pacing to and fro, debating with himself.

'I could've gone to someone. Maybe I could do it if I set my mind to it. But not since today. I shouldn't have opened my eyes.' He paused, rubbing a palm against his forehead. 'Now that I've seen you fall apart, I can't keep your face off my mind,' he shook his head.

He stopped pacing right before her with his hands braced over his hips. His head was hung low and he kept looking down to his side for a moment before he lifted his head to look at her.

'I'm so turned on right now, I can't think straight,' he admitted, his voice deep, his eyes troubled.

If anything, he was so much more worried about their current situation than she was. And he was the one practically asking for sex. He was, right? Paris frowned a little, the thought occurring to her that it wasn't beyond possible for him to come to her apartment and admit his current state of horniness only to reaffirm that he wasn't gonna have sex with her. He was known to do this, right? Repeatedly. So why wouldn't he do it again now?

'Tristan,' she tilted her head to the side, keeping his look as she took a step closer so that their feet were aligned, 'I'm gonna take off your tee and if you try and stop me, I may use some violence,' she explained, excitement and frustration battling in her voice.

He seemed to hold a breath before he balled the neck of his tee and pulled it off over his head. Paris licked the inside of her lips, her head starting to cloud with desire. She took a step back and began to unbutton her blouse.

'This better be good,' she mumbled a little nervously. 'After all that time, this has become the slowest slow burn in history of slow burns.'

The corners of Tristan's mouth lifted. He took a step towards her, hovering over her.

She put a palm against his chest. He had a nice chest. Warm, solid. Full of life and strength. She could become reacquainted with this chest more times than she cared to admit.

'One thing,' she said quietly.

'Just one?' he smirked, his tone playful. Paris remained dead serious.

'I'm still gonna be me. I'm not gonna be a nameless body... not tonight, not any night.'

Tristan's smirk grew a bit wider before he looked to the side and let out a chuckle, his smile turning bitter. When he focused back on the place where his hand was resting against her shoulder, his expression was humorless. Paris watched him as he played with the collar of her silk shirt, his thumb absently running along her pearl necklace she had put on earlier today. Was he once again gonna pull back, trying to play it safe? He was such a chickenshit for a player, guarding his heart and the safety of their relationship like a fanatic. A generous coward. That's what he was. A golden-hearted immature fool. God, she wanted him. Why wouldn't he let that thing between them, whatever it was, happen? His eyes were haunted. Why were they haunted? Was he having doubts because he was thinking about other women? Some women his body would like better? Or was he thinking about that one woman, Aiden's mother, the one he let his heart embrace but his body never really touched? He was such an unlikely prude. So restrained, staying put, keeping his cool. Paris was afraid she was too real for him. That she was so real he would get scared and pull back again. Or worse, that she wasn't measuring up to what he was used to. That she simply didn't have the magnetic pull of a bombshell and that was why he was so resilient against her charm. Who was she kidding, she had never been charming. She was a whole hell of a lot more, but charming she was not.

Paris willed herself not to move, pressing her lips tighter. She wanted to understand. Wanted to give him a chance to make his case and be understood. But he was such a mystery. A stark paradox of outgoing and unfathomable. Paris had always been good with puzzles. A problem-solver. But she had no clue as to what he was thinking right now.

'Leave them on,' he said, finally meeting her eyes, his look turning darker, lust stirring it into a deeper shade of blue.

'What?'

'Leave the pearls on,' he said, stepping closer, letting his palms slip beneath the open hem of her shirt, his hands warm against her rib cage. He took hold of her torso and spanned his fingers over her back, squeezing lightly, feeling her weight in his hands before pulling her in.

When their heads got close enough to share a breath, she wet her lips.

'I'm nervous,' she whispered.

 _I'm not ready to become another of your mistakes. Intimacy is meant to mean something.  
_

He leaned above her ear, his breath sending wave of chills down her neck.

'I'm terrified,' he said, his voice low.

She let out a huff, looking up to meet his look, expecting to find him amused. He was far from amused. He looked one step away from breaking apart. His thumbs were caressing slow semicircles along the underside of her bra as his eyes looked at her with an intensity that made her whole body buzz.

'Let's find out,' she uttered. 'Together?'

He wet his lips and gave her a slow nod, his eyes staying locked with hers.

'Together.'

They leaned into each other and took a chance.

* * *

 **TBC**


	37. Don't Ever Doubt That I Love You

_**Disclaimer : Nothing's mine.**_

 **A/N: As requested, Rory and Jess - centered chapter. A very emotional and heart-twisting chapter to write. Special thanks to** Nancy **,** jordana60 **,** LitLove **,** PGwonder **and** sonckad **for letting me know what they felt while reading those recent chapters. For you, dears!  
**

* * *

'Hey,' Jess greeted as he walked into the bedroom, finding Rory in front of the full size wardrobe door mirror.

He was ready to drop into bed instantly, utterly exhausted after his night shift. Unfortunately, he needed to take a shower first. He started taking his tee and socks off when he registered the frown on Rory's face as she stood to his left, studying her reflection.

'What are you doing?' he asked with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, bending to leave his right sock over his discarded tee and left sock on the floor.

'I'm huge,' Rory said somberly.

Jess opened his mouth and then closed it, knowing better than to comment on a pregnant woman's weight self-esteem issues. She looked off. It wasn't a surprise, her mood did change in a matter of hours these days. But now she looked especially off. Like being _super-touchy-right-before-she-gets-her-period-don't-come-near-her-without-bringing-chocolate_ kind of off. Whatever he said, wouldn't be right. And he did need a quick shower and a few hours of sleep before he managed to look like a semblance of a functioning man again. God, did he need sleep. It had been one hell of a night shift, he'd practically been on his feet the whole time, and now that the shift was over and he didn't have to forcefully concentrate on work anymore, his eyelids were heavy, his head swimming with drowsiness. So, he decided to do what every sane man did when his woman was in a bad mood - pretend he didn't exist until her hormones were back in check. He moved to dig his towel out of the right wing of the wardrobe.

'I'm sharing my body with another human,' Rory pondered beside him, her voice giving away that the thought had once passed as being badass, but thirty pounds into the journey the whole 'I'm beautiful in every size and shape' mantra had started to lose its original conviction.

'I'm getting jealous,' she said then.

This earned her a surprised arch of his eyebrows and he paused, holding his towel in one hand, holding onto the wardrobe sliding door with the other.

Rory wet her lips and her mouth set to the side into a gauging grimace. She had seen his expression, the hesitation in his stance.

He hadn't managed to filter his reaction before his confusion showed.

'She's already taking a part of you from me.'

He must have frowned because next thing she did was let out a sigh.

'It's already palpable,' Rory explained grimly, 'The change,' she elaborated.

Jess blinked, feeling drowsy and confused as hell. Were they getting into a conversation right now? Did it have to be _right now_ right now? Could he grab a couple hours of sleep first? Because he wasn't sure he could rely on his ears to hear the right words, let alone his brain to register the right meaning of what she was talking about and produce a proper response. However, Rory seemed to be on a roll. She must have woken up early, thinking about whatever had been bothering her, waiting for him to come home so she could discuss it with him.

'I can feel her presence in our lives already,' Rory said. 'It's both new and exciting, but it also demands some adjustments. I mean, not only practical adjustments, like getting a crib and baby clothes, but emotional adjustments too. Your attention is always diverting between me and her. And there is so much worry in you since she came into our lives - you're always on your toes, expecting something to go wrong.'

Jess felt his mouth move but clamped it shut, feeling Rory wasn't finished. And he was nowhere near understanding what the hell she was talking about. Why did she sound like she was accusing him of something? Was she accusing him of something? And if she was, what was she accusing him of? For worrying? For caring too much? He felt the drowsiness giving way to alarm. It started in his fingertips and spread over his whole body, urging his mind to wake up from its semi-stupor and make the wheels in his brain turn. He knew he worried. Of course he did. He worried about her and he worried about the baby. It happened when you loved someone insanely much. What was wrong with her? Or was Jess the one who was wrong? He found nothing wrong with caring about his woman and his child. Jess felt a wave of frustration rise within his chest but suppressed it forcefully, willing himself to listen to what she had to say. Maybe it would make some vague sense by the end of this absurd conversation. Maybe. At least he was no longer afraid he might fall asleep midsentence. She had done a fine job ruffling his feathers.

'It's like there's a third party in our relationship and she's not about to go anywhere,' Rory mused, her voice even, as if she had gone over the thought a million times already.

Like a punch to the jaw, this had him stilling. His muscles stilled. His heart stilled. His damn blood stilled.

Jess didn't trust his voice to not sound defiant if he asked the question. _Do you want her to?_

 _There's a third party in our relationship and she's not about to go anywhere._ Did Rory want his daughter, their daughter to 'go anywhere'? Shaking off the initial stupor, Jess licked his lips and stood straighter, keeping his arms beside his body, the towel hanging by his leg from his clenched fist.

This conversation was making him more and more nauseous by the minute. He wasn't sure if it was because he felt the stir of anger in his chest as he listened to Rory talk like this, or maybe it was anger with himself that he hadn't made her feel more secure - secure enough to not need to question her worth in his world, emotional or otherwise, when she was his entire fucking world.

He reminded himself to not lose his shit over nothing. But this wasn't nothing, was it?

 _She's not about to go anywhere._

The words reverberated in his skull, uglier and more fierce with each next round, making a bunch of his most deeply buried fears rear their heads, leaving him raw and agitated.

Like an angrier version of the feeling when he drove her to the ob-gyn clinic and waited for her in the car, wondering if she was about to end this pregnancy, if she was about to dispose of their child, his insides churned with hardly suppressed indignation. It was still alive in his memory, the hell he had gone through while sitting in the car, waiting for her to decide if she could get through with carrying his baby without giving into the overwhelming desire to make an abortion. It was a sickening, annihilating feeling, leaving his body clammy and sluggish. Jess remembered the slow torture of his self-imposed silence, the desperation that came from his forced helplessness. In order to let her make this decision free of guilt or regret, he had taken those upon himself. The shame and contempt he felt for himself were so overwhelming, so powerful. He had gambled with a decision that could cost him his lifelong peace of mind. He had gambled - hoping, _praying_ he had chosen the right gamble.

He felt his hands clench into fists, the strain in his knuckles doing little to relieve the tension his body exuded. He had let Rory make her choice - blindly, unconditionally, and he was still struggling with the self-imposed spinelessness of this act of stoic stupidity. He had done everything in his power to make Rory comfortable with this pregnancy, anything in his power to give her a chance to make this decision by her own standards, if even he had to feel at the end of his wit by the end of the process. It had cost him everything to not do anything. He had forced himself to not force her choice. But it seemed to never be enough. It had just started to feel right. This pregnancy, Rory had seemed to come to terms with the changes, to see the unexpected good sides of those changes. She had seemed so hopeful, so determined last time they discussed the paint colors for the nursery. And now they were back to ' _she's not about to go anywhere_ ' being a concern. Jess felt a heave in his stomach, swallowing hard to suppress the wave of nausea.

Had his own mother wanted to give up on him like this, had she wished he'd ' _go anywhere_ '? Of course she had. Liz had been an alcoholic and a druggie. She hadn't cared a damn about him. But Rory wasn't an alcoholic or a druggie. She was kind, smart and generous. She was loving and caring. And being all this, she seemed to feel about the same amount of joyful anticipation for their unborn daughter his own mother had ever showed for him. None.

Jess rubbed a palm against his jaw, trying to squeeze off some of the tension.

'Are you angry with me?' Rory asked, her voice suddenly weak and trembling. She must've seen the change in his demeanor, the scowl over his face. She had prodded the deepest wounds open, and she'd done it with such careless ease. He was raw and he was angry. And she saw it. She looked scared. Scared and hurt and vulnerable. Her eyes filled with tears, the previous fervor giving way to hurt and disappointment.

'I'm trying to share my fears with you,' she said with stubborn determination, her voice wobbly. She looked like she was trying to defend a cause. But then again, what _was_ her cause? He no longer felt so sure.

'What are your fears exactly, Rory?' Jess asked, his voice foreign, a cold gravelly sound.

Rory's eyes snapped up. As if he'd just slapped her, she stepped back with a gasp.

'Are you really worried about gaining weight,' he dragged out, the words pronounced with emphatic contempt, 'or are you having second thoughts about having this baby?'

She let out a choked sound, putting a hand before her mouth as her eyes welled up quickly, gazing forward but really seeing nothing.

'I wish I knew what to do in order to make the idea of carrying my baby in your womb more bearable,' he confessed, his voice cracking as he felt his heart slant open with each heartbeat, a pulsing bleeding wound he didn't know how to stitch.

Then, as if admitting defeat, he looked down to the towel he was still gripping into his fist.

'Now before I've said something I may regret, I'm gonna take that shower,' he said, his voice sounding bland and hollow even to himself.

Later on, as he went out of the bathroom after a long scalding hot shower, he found the apartment empty. He threw on a pair of briefs and tee and lied down onto the bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He had woken up by the front door closing and he'd scrambled out of bed, his head still clouded by sleep as consciousness slowly seeped into him. As he padded barefoot into the kitchen, he found Rory leaning a hand over the kitchen counter, heaving with sobs.

'Hey. Rory.'

'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I love you,' she sniffed. 'I'm so sorry.'

His breath hitched on an inhale as he wrapped his arms her, a shiver passing through him at the force of her sobs.

He lowered his head above her shoulder, stroking her hair with his palm, his breath fanning her ear.

'Okay,' he said carefully, his voice a scramble of braced fear and unconditional acceptance.

'It's not...' her face contorted as she drew back to see his expression, 'I haven't done anything stupid.'

He opened his mouth to protest but decided against it because she would read behind the lie right away. He knew she saw the fears written all over his face. It was pointless to convince her they weren't there.

'I went to the clinic to take my labs and saw a woman who had miscarried in the sixth month. She... She was looking at herself in the mirror, stretching her gown over her almost flat belly, and she hated it. Jess, she hated how empty she felt and I felt it along with her. It was almost as if I was in her place, and it was the most terrifying experience in my life. I've never felt so panicked before. It was... I know how stupid I've been okay? And I'm so so very sorry, I never thought of the way a flat belly in the seventh month would feel like, I only thought about how my body's changing and how my life is changing and-' she sobbed against his shoulder, out of breath, clutching at the sleeves of his shirt with both hands. 'And I made you doubt me,' she rambled on, completely out of breath, 'I made you think I was capable of giving up on our baby because I felt bad about my changing body and I was jealous that you would love someone else too, and I want to be better at this, I really do and if you wait for me I'll learn - I know I will, I'll learn how to be a better person, and a decent mom. I hope I'll make a decent mom. And I won't always make you doubt me, I'll take care of our daughter and find a way to share you with her and I,-' she paused, hyperventilating, shaking with a succession of sobs.

'Sh-shh,' Jess shushed her, holding her close, smoothing his palms against her hair and down her back.

He wished he could voice how he needed her to believe he could do this. He could be her husband and father of their child and he could be their rock, but in order to do this, he needed her to believe in him. It scared him how much he needed her to believe in him. For now, all he managed to say was,

'I love you too. Even if our timing is off sometimes, don't ever doubt that I love you,' he murmured in her hair.

'We'll figure this parenting thing out, won't we?' she asked timidly, her cheek damp against his tee.

He didn't know. He hoped so. But he had no way of knowing for sure.

'We will,' he said, hoping to god he was making a promise he could keep.

* * *

 **TBC**


	38. Prisoner

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Song lyrics used in this chapter belong to Street Of Roya's 'Prisoner'.  
_

 **A/N: Aah, some Tristan turmoil. I know, I know... but it's just the way this story feels true, blame it on the characters :P I need your reviews to keep going, feedback is bliss :)  
**

* * *

'Lie down on the couch.'

'Eh?'

'Lie down on the couch,' Paris repeated, gesturing towards the empty couch of the break room.

'Am I gonna be naked by the end of this conversation? Because I love the way your mind works, Titch.'

'You're such a guy, Tailcoat.'

'Why thank you.'

'By guy I meant pervert.'

Tristan shrugged, his smirk growing wider.

'You didn't mind that last night.'

'If you cooperate, there might be some nudity involved.'

'See who is the pervert now,' he rose his eyebrows, the look in his eyes flashing with excitement. 'Are we gonna role play? Because I _love_ role play.'

'I'm psycho-analyzing you. Lie down on the couch. Remember - nudity.'

Tristan hopped down on the couch, lying back with amazing dexterity. It took so little to get a guy motivated.

'What is your first memory of your mother?' Paris asked then.

The air in the room stilled. Tristan stilled. Paris stilled. They stood, him lying on the couch with his eyes closed. Her standing by the couch with her hands clenched into eager fists by her side. A pause in which Tristan seemed to suck in a slow breath and moved to sit on the couch, letting his feet step down on the floor. He rested both palms flat against the edge of the couch, his knuckles going white as he sat, motionless, detached.

'Don't,' he said, his voice a rueful rumble. 'Don't go there.' Then, after a pause, 'Please.'

Paris moved to sit beside him, putting a palm over his shoulder. All his muscles were strained. He stood at the edge of the couch, looking like a runner at a starting position, waiting for the whistle to blow.

'You know I'll dig until I find out what broke you beyond repair, right?' she asked, her voice calm and void of humor.

He turned to look at her, his jaw set firm, his shoulders stiff.

She was impossible, stubborn, unyielding. She was the last person you wanted digging something you wanted to forget you even buried, something wanted to forget ever existed in the first place. But she wouldn't be the Paris who saved your leg if she wasn't like this, would she? And who she was made for someone outstanding.

'You're too smart for your own good, Titch,' he said with a resigned sigh.

'You can talk to me, Dugray,' Paris let out a thoughtful sigh of her own and rested her cheek against his shoulder. 'You can trust my super smart ears to hear the right stuff, you can be dumb in front of me and trust I won't use it against you.'

She paused, then after giving it a moment's thought, added,

'I can also make for one hell of a hellhound, I'll scare off anyone who tries to offend you, vamp-wise or otherwise.'

This produced a short chuckle from him.

'I bet you will.'

'I don't like to see you like this,' she tried to prod. Carefully, tentatively, because she knew he didn't react well to being cornered.

As if sensing she'd come close to crossing some invisible line, she added with exaggerated playfullness, nudging his side,

'This diem ain't gonna carpe itself.'

Nothing. Okay, so she wasn't an expert on gauging life-shattering deep-laid fears out of people. She was blessed with little to no finesse when emotional stuff was concerned. She was honest, she was loyal, but when it came to being delicate with someone's feelings, she felt about as adequate as a Tim Burton fan at a Jane Austin convention - lost and useless.

It had been good. Who was she kidding, it had been much more than good. The sex had suspiciously resembled love-making. Sensual, intimate, rewarding. It had been all those things and maybe more. Maybe it had been just a bit short of phenomenal. Maybe he was reaching for something within himself and his path passed through her. Maybe for a couple of hours they both let themselves be, past and future forgotten, minds and souls here and paying attention.

The morning after, she would expect him to have second thoughts and go all freakingly prudish again, tell her this shouldn't have happened, he had been weak/delirious/under the influence/stupid/horny/curious/blind/angry/confused and she would have believed him, but he hadn't. Instead, he had been playful and open. He had been making jokes and looking for excuses to put his hands on her. There were little gestures of intimacy like hooking a finger under the hem of her knee-length tee (his tee in all truthfulness) as she passed him by and drawing her closer so he could place a chaste kiss on her shoulder, or lean over her from behind and pause, his lips an inch from her ear, his chest covering her back, warm and vibrant, and linger there, his breath feathering her nape. He had been smiling. God, was he smiling. And it ignited small campfires within her, warming places she had considered long hollow and frozen.

And then here they were. Him at the starting line and her trying not to blow the whistle.

Every time she tried to prod something more from him, something beyond the playful exterior, she hit a wall. He turned sad and moody. Every time she tried to look for something more than skimming along his easy-going surface, he became someone else. Someone she didn't know at all. It was unnerving. And scary. Paris had thought she was beyond that phase in her life where she got scared easily. She had been wrong.

'I won't judge,' she said gently, looking up at his profile as if to confirm a promise.

Tristan kept looking ahead, the tendons of his neck bulging with each silent breath he took.

Paris looked down, biting on her lip.

'Yesterday Josh asked me who Chuck Norris was,' she said in a resigned tone. 'So yeah, my son is four, it's high time he knows who Chuck Norris is, hence we're having a Norris binge at home tonight.' A pause. 'Thought you and Aiden may wanna join.'

'Count us in,' Tristan grinned immediately, although the change of mood looked rather forced on his strained features. She wondered how many times she had seen this transition and missed it. The way he would cover a wound with a grin or lame joke, making you believe the damage had never been there in the first place.

'And after the boys fall asleep, we may move on to the nudie part of that arrangement,' he offered, his tone turning more playful by the second. 'Because some parts of me are far from broken.'

Paris' lips pressed into a thin white line. He watched her, his placating smile fading only a little as concern crossed his pale blue eyes. How many times had she watched this transition, worry passing through him without making his smile falter? Did she know him at all?

She gave him a curt nod and stood up.

She knew him, she told herself. She knew him, dammit.

She knew him well enough to see his transparent stalling. He used sex as a distraction. He had never tried to cover that. The thing was, he used a loud and sunny personality as a distraction of some gaping wounds he had, and it was like a veil was being lifted, uncovering a whole new book of unfinished stories. Maybe both sides of him could somehow work together. Maybe his dark and bright could work together to create beautiful shadows and highlights. Maybe.

Tristan Dugray wasn't ready to pronounce declarations of soul-bearing honesty. And Paris knew better than to push him. The thing was, if there was one thing she was good at, one single skill she had mastered to extraordinary heights, it was pushing. She pushed herself and she pushed others. She pushed people to their limits, bulldozing their way into their better selves. The problem with pushing Tristan Dugray was, the chances he was gonna be around for any reruns if she overstepped some boundaries, were less than scarce. He had warned her. More than once. He had _pleaded_ with her to not do this, not ruin what they had in search for building something more. Numerous times, he had warned her he wasn't ready to give her anything more than what she already had from him. And she felt a growing unease because her gut was telling her one thing, and her heart was reaching for another.

* * *

 _~ give me warmth and wealth, give me dreams and hope,_

 _give me fame - give it, give it, give it to me_

 _give me sex and art,_ _ _give me love and soul,__

 _give me everything as fast as possible_

 _I see this city burn and see this city fall_

 _if only I could flee - if only only I could flee ~_

* * *

Beatrice Shefield's voice was crisp as she walked into the scrub room.

'He's in love with you.'

With that, she passed Paris by and started scrubbing over the sink next to the one taken up by Paris. Pristine white scrubs and light blue surgical cap on, Beatrice Shefield somehow matched the atmosphere of the OR. Clean. Neat. Cool. Sterile.

'He's gonna be overwhelmed by a desire to run away,' Beatrice continued. Then observationally, analytically, her words sparring with Paris' silence,

'How long before he goes and tries to make what he's feeling for you more bearable by random meaningless sex? I give him two weeks, give or two. And then what?'

Beatrice could have as well debated the stock market course. She had the cool composure of a businessman telling you you were broke and knowing fully well they weren't delivering any new information.

Paris rose a skeptical brow.

'He can't bear anything meaningful with a woman,' Beatrice stopped before her, arms bent in the elbows, dripping. 'He's been like that forever, you may go and think how you're gonna be the one that saves him but you're smart, you can't really believe he's gonna change only because he met you.'

'And why not?'

Beatrice shook her head with a bitter smile.

'Do you believe in the magical vagina spell, Geller?'

Paris' eyes narrowed and flashed with non-concealed warning.

'I thought so. Neither do I. You may heal his body's need to screw anything that moves, but this need never had anything to do with his body in the first place.'

Shefield's head tilted slightly to the side, her green eyes thoughtful.

'Maybe you don't believe me. You have all reasons to. But believe it or not, I care about him. And he's not about to move past his demons only because he met someone he feels more deeply about.'

Paris turned fully towards Beatrice, facing her with her own arms bent in the elbows, dripping with water. They looked like a weird pair of comic characters about to start throwing magic fireballs or whatnot.

'What do you know about his demons?' Paris asked.

Shefield shrugged.

'Not much, I guess.'

Her lips stretched into a thin smile.

'But enough to know it's a matter of time before he itches to belittle what he's feeling for you. He's been fighting it and he's not gonna stop fighting it only because it's getting harder to ignore. He's gonna itch to go and have something meaningless so that he breaks free from what he's getting in with you. And if you're about to go around claiming you are gonna be the one who's gonna cure him, maybe first you should ask yourself if you're gonna be the woman who stays in a relationship after he messes up. Because he's gonna mess up. A lot. And he's gonna hate himself for it.'

 _Like you did?_ Paris tipped her chin up and tried to assess Shefield's graceful, impeccable features, tried to see if she were talking about Tristan or if she was really talking about herself.

'He spent six months with me,' Beatrice said.

 _Take it from the one woman who has been in a relationship with Tristan Dugray._

'You know why? Because I wasn't trying to save him. Think about that.'

With that, Beatrice passed Paris by and walked into the OR. Paris followed.

Love was a peculiar thing. They said it made a fool out of a person. Maybe. It turned a person into a hope hunter. And hope hunters fearing the end of a dream were a sad, cruel, messy thing.

Beatrice Shefield had had Tristan Duray for six short months. And the reason he'd stayed with her was she didn't really have him at all. The moment she tried to own more than he was willing to give she lost him, irrevocably.

Trying to save Tristan Dugray from his concealed loneliness would cost him his freedom. It would take away the chance to feel entitled to screw up. Hope was a scary, powerful thing and it had the power to destroy people. Tristan feared hope. He feared it like he'd feared nothing else in his life. Once you have explored a certain kind of sadness, you get addicted to it. Not because you want sadness upon yourself. But because you start to believe that's what you deserve. And as time goes by, it's the only thing that starts to feel familiar. Because it's easier to relate to. Loneliness starts to feel like home.

How long before he goes and tries to make what he's feeling for you more bearable by random meaningless sex?

He could give his body to anyone, Paris realized. But it wasn't his body she was concerned about. It was his heart, and she wasn't sure it was ever on the table to begin with.

Her love was a prison he'd try to break free from. Because love came with expectations. Love came with hope. Hope you had for yourself. Hope you had for the person you loved. And the weight of that hope, the expectations it entailed, were unbearable for someone like Tristan Dugray, because he was a prisoner of his freedom.

Beatrice Shefield didn't know Tristan's demons. But she knew hers. And Tristan and her were much more alike than Paris would like to admit.

* * *

 _~ entertain my broken soul, entertain my faith,_

 _entertain this life - ain't that what you're aiming for?_

 _teach me my own ways, teach me my beliefs,_

 _teach me what I'm not and what I'll never be..._

 _I want to runaway, runaway_

 _I need to runaway - help me runaway from here ~_

* * *

'A word?' Paris caught up with him as he made his way out of the lockers room in his civilian clothes.

Tristan followed her out onto the ambulance parking lot.

'Am I in trouble?' he asked, his tone playful.

She turned and looked at him, a troubled expression over her face. His brows furrowed.

'I need to ask you a question and want you to be very honest with me, okay?' she asked, her voice uncharacteristically timid.

His expression changed momentarily. He made a step forward, his hand reaching out to touch her elbow. He gave her a slow nod.

'Are you a rundown bar?'

He stood watching her, not a trace of amusement, waiting for her to elaborate. By now he was familiar with her pattern of speaking, knowing she needed stark metaphors to make her point.

'Is there a _'sorry, we're closed off emotionally'_ tab hanging off your door?' Paris asked, her look shifting between his eyes, searching his expression for signs. Signs of what, she didn't know exactly. He was some bad whiskey and she had gotten hung up on him, her breath tasting like the remains of what could be an epic story but kept shutting down after the opening credits every time.

He kept his eyes on her, his breathing even. His look was firm on hers as he turned her words over in his head.

'If I had any say in it, I would never fall in love with you,' he answered truthfully.

'You don't wanna fall in love with me,' Paris repeated.

'Not the least bit,' he replied.

'And how has this been working out for you so far?'

He smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting up a bit.

'Terribly. Let's say you've pummeled through the ' _we're closed off_ ' sign and broken in, robbing whatever caught your eye in stride. I'm wondering if I'll have anything left in that rundown bar if I kick you out now.'

Paris chewed on the insides of her cheeks. He did have feelings for her. A lot of them. He didn't want to. He'd rather not have a single feeling for her but now that he did, he fought it. He didn't wanna fall in love with her. It was a bit late though. Now he was trying to deal with the aftermath of that. Maybe something good could come out of that. It was his call though. Not hers. She had all of her cards on the table. He was still debating if he was ever join the game.

They looked towards the back entrance of the hospital where Rory and Jess were just walking out, her hand looped around his elbow.

'We're not like them.'

'Eh?'

'Rory and Jess. We're not like them. They... make sense together. We don't.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

He opened his mouth as if to say something else but then hung his head and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets.

'Night, Paris.'

'Tristan?'

He turned back.

'They didn't make sense when he was being a jerk and tried to make her hate him. But they stuck around each other long enough and eventually, they figured it out.'

She gave him a pointed nod as if to say, try beat me on that. Tristan's eyes paused on hers and for a moment they stood, gazing at each other. Then a wide smirk spread over his lips and he tilted his head to give her a salute before he left. They were like a miscalculated math problem. On all the logical points they didn't make sense. But together somehow they created a bubble of good energy, adding together, somehow minimizing the minuses. Maybe. Maybe someday.

And when later on he found her in the kitchen of her apartment while the boys were watching _Sidekicks_ , he stood behind her and his arms wrapped around her, engulfing her into his larger frame and the way he held on to her wordlessly, desperately, felt a lot like an apology and a little bit like a promise. And she couldn't bring herself to give up on him. Because there was that. Someday. Maybe someday.

* * *

 **TBC**


	39. If You Ever Turn Around, You'll See Me

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine. Except for the previous AE seasons flashbacks - they're all mine bwahah.  
_

 **A/N: Trying to dig around in Jess' head. Here's the result. Finally, more Lit to come. The time for Jess/Rory return has come, my dears. Enjoy :)  
**

 **Your feedback is always welcome, so please - _please_ , don't hesitate to share :) **

* * *

The street was busy with late afternoon traffic, car lights dissolving into the distance, instantly replaced by new ones. The evening dusk spread over the city like dark blue smoke, traced by stark hues of orange and purple. An explosion of brightness and light over a palette of blues. It made for a spectacular view.

Jess Mariano stood by the wide glass windows of the ob-gyn ward and faced the sunset with both of his hands stuck deep into his jeans pockets. His car key was still between the fingers of his right hand. He had bought a car two weeks ago. A _Passat_. Screaming family car through and through. He, who believed owning a vehicle in New York was a parking suicide, had bought a sedan the size of a small cargo ship. It had felt like the right thing to do. He was about to become a father. Maybe he had already become a father.

Jess slid a sideways glance towards the obstetrics unit corridor before he focused back on the evening street traffic. He concentrated on the horizon. Somewhere above the line where the sky met the skyscraper rooftops, there was a trace of electric blue, a stark neon track of bold azure, and he thought of the color of Rory's eyes as she squeezed his hand and gave him a tight smile right before the nurses got her into the delivery room, pushing the wheelchair they had brought for her to sit into. That had been about an hour ago.

Rory had him agree he was gonna wait outside. They had led the debate for at least a couple of days in a row. Rory had told Jess this way she would be able to concentrate on giving birth to their one and only firstborn instead of being preoccupied by thoughts of his labile psyche and body. She would be too distracted by his emotional and physical state, she had said. He had rolled his eyes at the mention of his supposed disposition during natural labor, given he had spent half of his life working and studying in a hospital. He was a surgeon, for god's sake. A _surgeon_. A badass, manly surgeon, not some pushover who fainted at the mere sight of blood.

He wasn't labile. Neither his psyche, nor his body.

He would gladly show her just how big of a fan _her_ own body would become of his very non-labile, very solid body, once they got out of the delivery room and _her_ body was able to endure all of the fun _his_ body was about to deliver. Rory had laughed, nodding appreciatively. And then had repeated she wasn't giving birth in the same room while he was present and that was that. He suspected she was being self-conscious. She suspected he was being stubborn. He had been insistent. She had been unyielding. As per usual in their arguments, she had won.

Jess remembered the feeling of her fingers, soft and covered by a light sheen of sweat, around his, as he parked the enormous Passat and supported Rory as they walked through the parking lot of the clinic. He remembered her slightly wobbly smile as they took her on a wheelchair towards the exam room to check the cervix dilation and monitor the baby's heart tones. The electric blue of her look as she mouth-whispered, ' _See you later, dork_ '. The numbness of his hand frozen in a clumsy wave as he realized she had been taken away before he managed to mouth-whisper that he loved her.

The last rays of June sun squeezed out over the horizon. Jess thought about the first time he met her, one night shift five years ago. He had recently moved into his rental at the time and he had been bookshelf hunting in a secondhand furniture store during the day. He remembered the way she tried to speak up to him. How indignant and naive she had been at his attitude.

 _Nursery's over there._

 _She's eight._

 _I meant you._

The way he tried to mouth off, the way she ignited something within him, a spark that grew with each next day their paths crossed. How she had made him feel alive for the first time in his life. Him meeting her had been a birth to him, a starting line, a scratch. That was the certain point in his life where he found what caring about what came tomorrow felt like. And as they crashed and burned together, they found new facets to each other, rediscovered new facets to themselves, step by step building a bond stronger than anything they'd faced so far.

 _That poem you quote, it's Delilah. Why her?_

 _Because Samson couldn't resist her._

 _She was a prostitute._

 _She was the only person that ever meant something._

And when their own fears and expectations scared them, when Rory was afraid she wasn't gonna be enough of a family to him, they held on to each other.

 _Don't give up on me._

 _I'm not finished falling in love with you yet, Gilmore. I'm not going anywhere. You taught me how._

And when a bullet and Jess' pride turned their lives upside down, and they lost each other, they rebuilt their relationship from the ashes,

 _I don't have any acts of bravery left in me._

 _There is not a single brave thing you didn't do... I don't really think I deserve your love, but then again you never loved me cause I deserved so. You loved me because it was how you felt. And I'm not ever again walking away from that.  
_

 _... Why are you so patient with me?_

 _I still wanna make you insanely happy. And I'm still figuring out how._

Five years had come and gone and their lives would never be the same. Five years had come and gone and now they couldn't imagine their lives without each other. _  
_

The news for the baby had come as a shock to both of them. Maybe more to her than him. But they were gonna figure stuff out as they went. He had promised her they would rock that parenthood thing. And they would. He had no idea how but they would.

After gloating over her victory in the No Jess In The Delivery Room veto debate, Rory had decided to help him look from a philosophical point of view. Last week, she made a case of telling him all about how he could be her eyes and ears outside. While she was in the delivery room doing the actual work, he could be her mole as to what was happening outside. Once everybody arrived, it would be louder than an amusement park on a free weekend, more buzzed than an _Oscar_ _Nominee_ analysis broadcasting in a late night show in the second week of February. Jess had muttered something about the perks of being entertained while waiting for his wife to give birth. Rory hadn't tried to correct him. Not this time. He referred to her as his wife. He had been doing that for a while. When someone dared ask what he meant by that when they hadn't officially signed any papers yet, Jess said Rory was his wife if both of them had agreed that she was, period. And Rory found she didn't mind that - not the least bit, starting to see the actual signing of the papers legalizing her being Jess' wife as a matter of time, when both of them had agreed that she was his and he was hers, no papers were about to change that, right?

Jess licked a lip and rocked on his heels, his eyes adjusting to the dimming light outside. The city was covered by an inkish shade of blue. Rory had told him to enjoy the first hour or two where he was still alone. Enjoy the quiet, she had told him. There's gonna be an exquisite beauty in it. He had shaken his head and let out a low chuckle. It had to be the hormones, he had thought at the time. Her extra emotional, superhuman sense pregnancy hormones. Finding the glory in the silence in a Delivery ward waiting room. He had suggested most men couldn't make themselves useful in these couple of hours and probably that was how most baby/mama name tattoos on male pecs came to existence. She had laughed out loud for a good couple of minutes. They had led this conversation about a week ago, as they lied on the sofa, her back snug against his chest, both of their arms wrapped around her belly with their palms spread, fingers intertwined, feeling the occasional movement of the life inside her. Jess could still remember the smell of her hair under his chin, still feel the warmth of her fingers against his as the occasional kicks of their daughter moved the skin under their palms. It had been a moment of pure bliss, Jess realized now as he watched the smudged lights of the night traffic. Like free falling, he had been weightless with everything he'd ever needed right there in his arms.

Another hour or so passed. The waiting room started to slowly fill with people. They weren't too chirpy or nervous. Just... buzzed. The air filled with hopeful anticipation, a slow rush, a feeling of belonging to something bigger shared between a bunch of people who cared about someone so much and found themselves in the same place at the same time while that someone was giving birth. A quiet buzz. _Just like you said_ , he thought, letting his lips stretch into the slightest smirk. God, he missed her right now. She would like to witness the sight in the waiting room right now.

Jess' look slid from one face to the other slowly. She had been right. It was like her whole life was written in the faces of the people in this waiting room. Lorelai sipping on her third (fourth? Jess doubted someone really kept count) cup of coffee while holding onto Luke's arm, their fingers entwined snugly over his knee. Luke sitting with a strained expression, stoically trying not to express emotion and failing miserably. The man had taken his baseball hat off, that had to be self-explanatory. Such a big softie indeed. Rory had to be given credit for having him pinned down when she told Jess about him and her mother's slowburn romance.

Emily Gilmore was sitting at the end of the bench, her posture a little stiff, her hand occasionally stroking the head of a sleeping three year old Kevin who was lying across her lap.

A little to the side, Josh and Aiden were playing a game on Aiden's tablet, their faces lit by the light of the display but lighting up a tad more every time a member of the staff passed through the corridor. Then the boys would pause the game and look up expectantly.

At the opposite end of the waiting room by the vending machine, Tristan was pacing in front of a murderous looking Paris who was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, fidgeting with an unopened pack of dried papaya in her hands and checking her pager every five seconds. Jess supposed she wasn't even on call tonight, but needed the gesture to spend some pent up energy. Paris would snap at Dugray to stop the hell pacing, he would say something back and she would give him a scolding look but her lips would crack the slightest smile, their hushed voices carrying over to Jess every now and then. Sometimes, he would hear Tristan's low laughter, followed by Paris' sarcastic reply.

Jess wished he had a photographic ability to capture their faces right now, and show them to Rory later on. Because he wanted to be her eyes and ears and there was a whole lot to be heard and seen in this waiting room tonight. The way everybody's anticipation formed a bubble of nervous energy, circling around, bouncing into each and every one of them, growing brighter. The way their eyes lit up when Dr Rosenberg came through the corridor and called,

'Mister Mariano?'

The way Lorelai stood up with Luke following shortly after, their hands clasped into each other. Emily's posture becoming even stiffer, her hand freezing in Kevin's hair. The way the boys put the tablet down and stood straighter in their seats, their shoulders pressing together in unspoken support. The way Paris and Tristan cut their bickering and he gave her a hand so she could stand up from the floor and his palms rested against her shoulders, bracing her in an unconscious protective gesture. Jess wished he could capture that, and more. He wished he could tell Rory how her family were there and how they were breathing in unison, filled with the same buzzing nervous anticipation. How this filled him with gratitude that she had so many people who loved her, so many people she could call true family. He wished he could communicate the itchy, disturbingly recurring mosquito of a feeling he got at the way everyone had someone to hold while he felt his hands empty, free falling with no hand to grasp. How he felt inadequate to the concept of happy anticipation. The concept of family to call your own. Because he was new to this. He was so clueless as to what happy anticipation was supposed to entail.

Jess' look moved behind doctor Rosenberg and on to the nurse behind her, holding a small bundle in her arms. And everything else disappeared. Jess felt his feet move on their own accord, leading him towards the fidgeting baby wrapped in a familiar yellow blanket - the one they had prepared earlier as they packed the things for the hospital two weeks ago.

'Congratulations, Mr Mariano. Meet your daughter.'

His daughter weighed less than seven pounds and from what was seen under the blanket, had some impressive mane of black hair. Other than that, she was puffy and pink, her eyes closed and her lips puckered into an instinctive suckling gesture.

Jess instinctively took the bundle that was given to him to hold and somehow, all the noise of the outside world, as well as all the noise in his head, stopped. Like a part into a giant clock mechanism finally falling into place, something within him clicked. Something within his heart rearranged. And he realized he had someone to hold on to. He had someone to hold on to with both of his arms. He had a Gilmore girl for each of his hands to hold on, to take lead and be led, to call his own and be called their own. He was head of a family now, as wild as that sounded. This was the day a family was born. A family that was no one else's but his.

'Miss Gilmore is ready to see you,' he heard through the buzz in his ears.

He managed a wobbly smile, looking down at the baby in his arms.

'Come on, Allison. Let's go see your mommy.'

* * *

 _Yesterday when you were young_  
 _Everything you needed done was done for you_  
 _Now you do it on your own_  
 _But you find you're all alone, what can you do?_

 _You and me walk on, walk on, walk on_  
 _'Cause you can't go back now_

 _You know there will be days_  
 _When you're so tired_  
 _That you can't take another step_  
 _The night will have no stars_  
 _And you'll think you've gone as far_  
 _As you will ever get_

 _You and me walk on, walk on, walk on_  
 _'Cause you can't go back now_

 _And yeah, yeah, you go where you want to go_  
 _Yeah, yeah, be what you want to be_  
 _If you ever turn around, you'll see me_

 _I can't really say_  
 _Why everybody wishes they were somewhere else_  
 _But in the end, the only steps that matter_  
 _Are the ones you take all by yourself_

 _You and me walk on, walk on, walk on_  
 _Yeah, you and me walk on, walk on, walk on_  
 _'Cause you can't go back now_  
 _Walk on, walk on, walk on_  
 _You can't go back now_

* * *

 **2nd Disclaimer** **plus Author's Note** **:** **The song lyrics you see right above belong to _The Weepies_. I've been humming this song as I was writing this chapter and opened the lyrics to read online. Once I read _The Weepies_ wrote this song when their son was born and it was meant to show how family supported each other through thick and thin and how they encouraged each other to be their true selves even as everything else changed, it felt right to have it in this chapter so yeah. Here it is. **

**Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and review, your feedback means more to me than you'll probably believe :)**

* * *

 **TBC**


	40. A Myriad Of Almost Perfects

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Big THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to review - you are amazing and I love you for your appreciation and support for this story and its characters!**

* * *

Life took on a different course. Or maybe it was the same course, just its pace felt different. It was the same, yet it felt different. The same everyday stuff with a new glow to it. Like experiencing things for the first time along with the new person they had created and took home two days after she was born.

There was a new routine. A sleepless one. An endless night shift that had its bright and not so bright moments. They were learning what the different baby sounds meant, how full a full diaper actually is, how to laugh at their own lack of expertise when it came to changing a baby in three steps and realized the whole experience took them more than half an hour. They learned that no matter if they were Ivy League graduates, doctors who faced life and death situations on a daily basis and super intelligent people who had read more books than an average nerdy librarian spinster had, they were totally new to this. That parenthood thing took some nerve.

They realized, in their constant state of half slumber, that those days parenthood meant keeping your eyes half open while the baby was feeding, or needed a change, or a bath, or a nap. Evolution was strange, the way it created a human so helpless, the way human babies stayed helpless for months, years even. Every other species was more adapted to cope on their own. Not us humans. We just had to be nurtured and taken care of for years before we could do as much as peel a tangerine and eat it without choking on a seed. _Years_.

They learned the arithmetic of how long ten minutes of baby cry lasted - it was a whole forever shorter than thirty minutes of baby cry did. They learned that their bodies were a miracle - they had a whole new specter of stiffness and numbness, capable of dispositions they hadn't even suspected existed so far.

They learned a whole lot about the almost perfect moments in life. Because it wasn't often when you got everything going for you, moments of utter perfection were pretty rare. But there were those moments, the almost perfects, that happened every once in a while, and if you kept your eyes open you wouldn't miss them. Like the look you share with your almost husband while the baby burps and falls asleep on your shoulder with a content sloppy smile. And the sound of your almost wife slightly snoring with your daughter in her arms, the baby's mouth slightly gaping after being breastfed in the middle of the night. The reflected sunlight of the setting late June sun as you stood on a bench in the park next to each other, your half-closed eyes almost dozing but shining with a new kind of light while your three-week daughter was sleeping in her stroller by your side. The feeling of being your almost wife's superhero when you managed to lure your one-month daughter into sleep after hours of negotiation. The look in your almost husband's eyes when you caught him staring at you talking to your daughter, the pride in his usually stoic look almost unbearable. Life these days was full of almost perfects. And it felt right. Rewarding. Although not in the way they were used to.

Parenthood was rewarding on a very different scale of contentment, and they began to adapt to the newness and subtlety of this kind of happiness. It was a happiness caught in a glimpse between many in-betweens, a happiness that always had more to do and something waiting in store. Your kid was a project that was ever evolving, ever changing, ever demanding. There was not a single moment when you could say _okay, now all that needed to be done is done_.There was always something more to do. But they learned to catch those glimpses of almost perfectness. In between feeling exhausted, occasionally clueless and confused, in between double-guessing themselves and trusting their instincts, in between blaming their lack of expertise and learning to forgive themselves, there was a myriad of almost perfects unraveling before them. There was so much more to be learned, so much new stuff they were still facing for the first time and felt overwhelmed by. They learned in stride and tried not to be too hard on themselves when they failed at doing something for the first time. Probably because there was no energy to be wasted on self-blame, with so much else to do all the time. But it was okay. They had each other and now they had their daughter serving as a perfect proof that a life graced by a myriad of almost perfects was probably more than most people could bargain for.

* * *

'Tell me about you and Tristan,' Rory demanded.

'You look too good to have given birth a couple of weeks ago,' Paris narrowed her eyes suspiciously, trying to stall Rory's question. 'You're... _glowing,_ ' she said with what was supposed to sound like almost repulsion.

Rory smiled.

'You were glowing too, Paris.'

Paris huffed.

'Because emergency Caesarean does that to your skin complexion. Waking up from the anesthesia must have made me look like something puked out of a ghost, not to mention the pain in my gut. Is that how our patients feel? Medicine is such an obnoxious thing.'

Paris paused, looking around, as if searching for another distraction to change topic. She was nervous, it was easy to tell.

Rory threw her an amused and slightly tired glance.

'Anyway, enough about being opened up and stitched back again, I'm glad you didn't have to go through that,' Paris smiled, nodding towards the one month baby in Rory's arms. 'She's gaining well.'

'Do you want to hold her?' Rory asked, her smile growing wider.

Paris opened her mouth and closed it, lost for words for a short moment.

'Here,' Rory leaned forward, sitting straighter in the rocking chair, giving Allison to Paris.

Paris took the baby into her arms and swayed her a little, looking down at her peaceful face. Paris bit on her lip, feeling her eyes give in to the impulse to... sweat. Yeah. Sweat.

'Hey,' she said. 'I'm aunt Paris...' she rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of her own words. 'We've met a couple of times before but your dad was always in the room and I didn't dare touch you given I almost made your mother reconsider having you. See, I have nothing against you, I just was a mess back then and my phrasing sucked. I know you're just a baby and probably can't understand a word I'm saying, but I feel like we have to start this on a clean slate. So, what I'm saying is, your dad is an overprotective loon who loves you and your mom beyond reason, and your mother is the best philanthropic, open-minded optimist who always gives people a second chance, beyond good reason. And I am aunt Paris - I am the good reason around. Your mother and father are very important to me and I guess you'll be important to me, too. So I want you to know this from the start - you can always count on me. I'm a difficult person but I'm an honest and hardworking one - so you can always count on me to call you on your mistakes and help you get out of a difficult situation.'

Paris let out a sharp pent-up sigh and gave Allison back to Rory.

'Okay,' she nodded to no one in particular. 'I think I'm done with introductions now.'

'So,' Rory said with a cunning smile, her fingers moving to caress Allison's insanely thick black hair, 'you and Tristan.'

'What about me and him,' Paris hummed distractedly, her eyes still set on the peaceful face of the baby in Rory's arms in an expression full of wonder.

'I'm waiting for the scoop.'

'He drove me here,' Paris shrugged noncommittally. 'He's probably tease-singing ' _Like a Virgin_ ' to Mariano.'

Rory rolled her eyes.

'Don't give me bullshit, Paris.'

'Oh, I do think he's teasing the hell out of him, given his unhealthy concern with your baby daddy's lack of sleep and supposed fresh parenthood-induced celibacy.'

'I want the story right here right now. Last thing I know, you were exchanging bodily fluids all over the place.'

'Interesting that you would be the one talking about expulsing bodily fluids.'

Rory suppressed a chuckle.

'Paris.'

'You're really interested in me and Dugray when your life has recently changed forever and you're experiencing the strongest emotions a woman can dream of?' Paris tried to scold, failing in the most part because Allison had a hypnotizing effect on her.

'I've been engaged in a very thrilling, very happy routine of breastfeeding and changing diapers of a newborn who happens to light my world, but it's been more than a month with no news from the hospital, no going out with friends and no worldly news whatsoever and yeah, Tristan is right, we've been revirginized in those couple of months - you hear me right,' Rory gave Paris a pointed look ' _months_ , so believe me, I do wanna hear anything that doesn't concern some renown baby whisperer's secret to masterful baby sleep training.'

Rory shook her head at Paris' arched eyebrows in a silent ' _Yes, I've been indulging into some unhealthy parenthood self-help literature and don't even get me into this conversation_ ' gesture. Okay, so her friend was a happy overtly exhausted mother of a newborn. As exhilarating as that was, it tended to get monotonous at some point, especially given what Rory's everyday routine used to comprise when she was working extra shifts in the ER. Shifting gears from being an aspiring lady doctor to being a stay-at-home mom of a newborn would definitely require some adaptation. Paris remembered her own restlessness after Josh turned two months. She was back at work as soon as he turned six months. That's when the first arguments with Doyle had started. He never really understood what drove her to go back to work so early. Or maybe she never really took the time to try and explain.

Paris considered Rory's words for a moment before she sighed, her shoulders sagging an inch.

'I think he's backing away.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I mean, I know and I don't.'

'Do you think he doesn't want to be in a relationship?'

Paris leaned back into her chair, her eyes roaming the room and setting on the half open nursery window behind Rory's back.

'Not exactly. I can tell he wants to, but he's getting panicky every fifteen minutes. He isn't emotionally unavailable. He's very present and he's committed. But when he realizes that he is, that's when he's getting restless. I think he has some relationship anxiety issues. Like... trying to master some emotional risk management and getting panicky as he fails.'

'You think he's not over his macho days?' Rory rose a skeptical brow.

'No,' Paris shook her head thoughtfully. 'I think his macho days were due to his relationship phobia in the first place.'

'Huh, I'd always thought that was what men used as an excuse to get rid of a girlfriend...' Rory stopped short as she met Paris' deathly stare. 'Not that this is the case with you and Tristan of course.'

'Of course.'

Rory narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

'You seem oddly at peace with the situation. I'd imagine you'd be plaguing him to tell you whether or not he's ready for a relationship with you, waving a two-hundred page relationship contract you've fleetly prepared in your lunch break.'

'Oh, he's not.'

'Eh?'

'He's not ready for a relationship. With me or with anybody else. But he's trying.'

'So... what now?'

'I think he's bailing on me in a couple of days.'

'And... you're okay with that?' Rory tried, her voice soaking with disbelief.

Paris let out a heavy sigh. She seemed like she had led this conversation with herself more than a couple of times lately.

'He's a good guy, Rory. Much more than good but don't tell him because he'll never let me get over it. What I mean is, he's really been there for me and we're...' she licked a lip, looking up at the ceiling as if she were debating over the right phrasing. 'We're friends,' she decided. 'And he's never done anything to make me believe he doesn't want what's best for me and Josh. He's scared out of his mind and I'm not gonna be the person who pushes him to do something he's not ready for.'

Rory blinked, trying to remind herself this was Paris she was talking to. Her nazi friend Paris. The Paris who can scare the lazy out of people. The Paris who could discipline terminally ill patients into living for a couple of days more.

'Paris, are you on crack?' Rory asked suspiciously.

'No.'

Rory blinked pensively, giving Paris a slow nod.

'Okay. Just checking.'

'I don't wanna lose him,' Paris shrugged, her voice slightly hoarse.

'So you're letting him go.'

 _Oh, Paris._

'Yeah,' Paris sighed with somber acceptance. 'I guess I am.'

Because Paris suspected that Tristan Dugray had never in his life been loved. And that single fact made all the difference. Now that he was.

* * *

'How was your meeting with the outside world?' Jess asked, resting back against his pillow after leaving a sleeping Allison in her crib.

'Good,' Rory smiled, turning on her side to face him, throwing an arm around his torso and bringing him closer. 'Mmm, you smell good.'

'Took a shower while you were feeding Allie.'

'Whoa,' Rory nuzzled his side, enjoying the feeling of his closeness. 'I must have dozed off, don't even remember when you came out of the bathroom.'

He smirked, caressing her arm with the hand he'd thrown over her shoulders.

'Yeah. You were both sleeping when I came out.'

'How is Tristan?' Rory asked sleepily.

'Obnoxious,' Jess answered closing his eyes, rubbing his itching eyelids with his free hand.

'I miss having inappropriately hot sex with you,' Rory sighed a little before she fell asleep.

Jess' thumb and forefinger paused over his closed eyelids and he slowly rested his hand down by his side, moving his head to look down at a sleeping Rory. Her cheek was resting over his chest, his tee slightly crumpled into her loose fist, her lips resting into a peaceful smile. He gently tucked her head under his chin and left a kiss on top of her head, careful not to wake her as he settled them into a more comfortable position to sleep into.

* * *

 **TBC**


	41. Getaway Ride

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME GRAPHIC M CONTENT. Nothing gross or too explicit I think, yet it's as M as this fic has ever got so far. So yeah, temperatures are about to rise. Now that you've been warned - for the ones who keep on reading - I hope you enjoy :) Leave a word after, maybe? I'm sure to be waiting around moping... lurking... _hoping_ \- the word is hoping (rright) - for a review :)  
**

* * *

Tristan brushed a thumb along his lip and looked up at the ceiling, as if asking for some divine help.

'Won't you relax? Just trust me, I won't-'

'Stop it. I'm not spilling my guts, Paris.'

'If you're on to rob a bank and need a trusted guy to ride your getaway car, who would it be?'

Tristan arched an eyebrow.

'Baby driver?'

'Me, idiot. It would be me. Because I got your back. Because that's what we do - I got your back and you got mine.'

'I won't be your getaway ride, Paris.'

'True. Because Rory would. But you would be my second choice. Or third. After Mariano. And Helen. Oh, have you met my neighbor with the stinky cat?'

'Paris.'

'Don't you get the gist, Dugray? You can trust me.'

' _You_ can't trust _me_ ,' he stressed, frustration and weariness surfacing in his voice.

'Well try me.'

'No. Paris, can't we not get into this conversation over and over?' he asked with a rare note of agitation grazing into his voice. 'It's getting old.'

'Hmm,' Paris tapped her chin in an exaggerated pondering gesture, 'What's that word you have been using lately? No.'

'Stop.' He ran both of his hands through his hair, his fingers intertwining at his nape as he hung his head back.

It was very unusual for Tristan Dugray to look irritated, but Paris seemed to trigger all kinds of unusual feelings in him so what was another one, right? Paris kept pushing his boundaries and Tristan kept trying to keep them intact. It was a strenuous and very discouraging activity, not to mention frustrating him to no end.

'Just...' he let a long breath through his nose, 'Stop.'

'Or what?' Paris stepped forward, jutting her chin up. 'You keep asking me to give up on you and I won't!' she almost yelled at him, angry at how stubborn he was being.

Tristan was good with discipline, she realized. Somehow it was easy to miss when you never looked past the comic relief slash womanizer exterior. Tristan never insisted on being taken seriously, so it was easier to make fun of the ridiculous stunts he pulled on a daily basis. It was easier and people did it. They saw him as what he displayed for show. And that was exactly what he counted on.

Now that Paris had started to see the cracks in Tristan's carefully built shell, she found a whole new specter of facets to his personality. Like how much he actually cared. Even when he tried to conceal it behind his incessant teasing, he cared. About Aiden. About her. About Josh. About Rory. About Jess. About Helen. She even suspected he had cared about Beatrice Shefield in his own guarded way, but she had made some mistakes that had made him stop. Paris saw how he feared. God, how he feared. Anything that had the potential to make him vulnerable was carefully sidestepped in seemingly nonchalant stride. But Paris began to see that Tristan's nonchalance took a lot of discipline. _Let it slide_ was Tristan Dugray's motto for the outside world, but he never really let it slide, did he? No he didn't. He was guarding that fragile, generous, terrified heart of his like he guarded nothing else. He was picturing himself as that simple, outgoing organic guy because that's what he wished for himself. And he was that guy. But he was so much more than that, he was thoughtful and layered and very, very vulnerable, and he never let people close enough to realize just how to trigger that vulnerability in him. All of this took discipline. Discipline he had. Whatever he had endured in his past, followed by the years in Military school, had helped him build an imaginary personality based on the sheer fear of getting hurt. But a person was more than a bunch of their fears. Paris had learned that the hard way.

Tristan had so much love. So much love he was afraid to give to keep from getting hurt again, so much hopes he denied himself of only so that he didn't have to watch them get crushed. He wasn't a loner out of habit. Or out of being lazy, or because of lacking certain deeper human emotions. Tristan was a loner as a means of self-preservation. And it was so clear, so easy to see now that Paris took a closer look. The puzzle would always miss some central pieces, but the bigger picture was so much clearer now. How had she been so blind?

Paris Geller felt angry. She felt furious with herself for not seeing those signs earlier. She was especially angry with herself for letting herself develop some monstrously deep feelings for the victim of some unknown childhood PTSD. But as everything with her, Paris' anger didn't dwell in one place. She was angry with Tristan too. For fighting her as if he were fighting some unknown, dangerous enemy, as if they were fighting on different sides of that war. She had let him in. She had fucking let him in. And he was doing anything in his power to keep her out.

'What are you so afraid of?' she shoved a hand at his chest. He didn't budge. 'I'm not on a mission to break your heart, you stupid idiot. I'm in love-'

'Don't,' his face contorted in a pained expression. He looked at her with such hurt, as if she'd just betrayed him. 'Don't say it,' he ground out.

'What difference does it make if I say it or not when it's the obvious truth, you dumbface? What use when I know you're not my safest getaway ride choice and I'll choose you anyway?'

He stepped back, as if her words had slapped him across the cheek.

Had they signed a _don't ever fall in love with me_ contract she had missed? Jeez, Dugray.

'I'm not-'

She cut him before he could finish,

'If you tell me you're bad for me one more time, I swear I'll grab your head and I will smash it against that kitchen counter. My small stature is entirely misleading, Dugray. I don't care if you're a MMA master, I'm very sinewy and extremely wicked, I can take you down with an unexpected-'

She was cut by his palms taking hold of her face and drawing her into a kiss. She had never been kissed like that. If they had been on the gym mat, that would have been a knockout. He was all over her, one hand tangled into her hair, the other roaming, feeling, keeping her in place so that he could change angle and come at her again, his tongue making its way deep into her mouth and fighting hers, taking advantage of every second of hesitation on her part. If they had been fighting on the ring, she would have no chance to react with the way he moved onto her. It felt so much more intense than before. If before he had been giving, touching her with expertise and attention, coaxing her into feeling at ease with him as their bodies got to know one another, now he was taking. He was invading and claiming, taking in stride. Anything that came his way. Anything that caught his attention - it was his. _She_ was his.

Something within him had snapped and instead of running from her he had suddenly changed direction and ran straight into her, their tongues colliding and dueling to create a mind-numbing rhythm where she had no chance to set the pace. The pace was frantic and the game was totally new to her. And as his hands molded her against him, shaping her as he pleased, Paris thought if maybe it was new to him too. He was moving, his movements desperate and searching. He was breathing through her, the unexpected honesty of his demeanor making her simmering anger give way to abandon, to an overwhelming joy at (finally, FINALLY) his openness. She had never been wanted like that before. Tristan Dugray was a midsummer thunderstorm and right now he was pouring down on her.

'I'm stuck with wanting you,' he muttered, moving down her neck as his hands worked on the buttons of her blouse and opened it, sliding it down her shoulders. He moved on to her bra, getting it out of the way, his palms spanning against her bare back, pressing her against his tall, toned body. The cotton of his tee was soft and warm, and smelled like him - like a sea storm. His torso was warm and solid, his skin warming hers through the cotton of his tee.

Paris heard a throaty groan, strangely resembling a purr. That must have been her own voice but she couldn't tell for sure. She couldn't tell her own name right now. Tristan didn't stop, didn't hesitate. Working the zipper of her dress pants and sliding them off her along with her undergarments, he mumbled something incoherent, the words ' _moth_ ' and ' _flame_ ' making it through the haze in Paris' head. She couldn't concentrate on words though, her body singing under his touch.

Paris whimpered as she felt the cold surface of a wall meet her back. She had no memory of how he had moved them from the kitchen of his apartment to the bare wall of his living room but now he was taking his tee off and then he was kneeling before her, one palm pushing her hip against the wall while the other took hold of her calf, positioning her bare foot over his shoulder.

She cried out at the feeling of his mouth against her, the feeling so electric and unexpected it blanked her mind. She heard a muffled thump and the dull pain at the back of her head told her she had thrown her head back against the wall, one of her hands forming a fist to smash against the wall too as he found the exact place where she needed him.

'Tell me to stop,' Tristan's hoarse voice came as he pulled back to look up at her.

'If you stop I will kill you,' Paris said in a breathless whisper, her fingers burying into his hair, pulling on the short spiky tresses. She had to be pretty fargone if she was being this uncensored but when he got back to what he'd been doing, her hands fisted his hair and at some point she had to lift a hand to bite the back of her fist so she didn't start screaming or sobbing. Because right now - right now both were valid options. It was too much, her senses on overload, her body a high wire ready to short-circuit any second.

'Need-' she uttered, pausing to dry-swallow a sharp breath. 'You. Inside.'

She pulled on his head, prompting him to look up.

'Tristan. Please.'

Unhooking her leg from his shoulder, he stood up and wrapped her leg around his hip, pressing her flush into the wall, his length aligning with her through the denim of his jeans as his breath feathered her face. She let out a whimper and reached for his face, searching his mouth. As soon as her lips closed on his, she engaged him in a searing open-mouthed kiss. She reached down between them and hastily undid his belt, pushing his jeans and boxer briefs down as he undid the foil wrapper of the condom he had slipped out of his back pocket. As soon as he sheathed himself, she reached between them and with one quick move guided him inside her. Both of them let out a sharp hiss and stilled at the intensity of the sensation. They stood with their foreheads touching, breaths colliding. Her palms moved up to take hold of his face, drawing him closer, catching his mouth in a deep, sensual kiss as he took hold of her hips and started moving, creating a tortuously slow rhythm. He seemed to support her weight effortlessly and her palms cupped the sides of his neck, her fingertips spread over his nape, her thumbs moving along his jaw. She pulled his face in, peppering small kisses at the corners of his mouth, over the tip of his nose, against his shut eyelids, giving him tenderness he had never asked for.

He had squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly concentrated on keeping himself in check, moving much slower than either of them needed. As if he'd been having second and third thoughts about letting himself go, the previous urgency suddenly giving way to caution. Like running towards the edge of a cliff and stopping right at the precipice, shaking on his heels as he eyed the gorge, Tristan was stopping himself from taking what was already his. Had been his for a while now.

'Tristan look at me,' she whispered. 'Please.'

Slowly, as if it pained him, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

'It's me,' she smiled, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. 'We squeeze mozzarella together.'

The corners of his mouth shot up into the beginning of a smile when his breath hitched and his face contorted into an expression of utter surprise and pleasure as his orgasm hit him unexpectedly. He started moving, the pace again frantic and intense, reaching a hand between them to ensure her own release.

As they rode their high together, they stood still. He was supporting her against the wall, both of them panting as their foreheads rested against one another. His jeans were still around his ankles and their breaths were coming in ragged huffs of air, hot against each other's faces.

'Remind me to piss you off more often,' Paris breathed, a sloppy smile forming on her lips.

Tristan's voice carried too, low and hoarse.

'Christ. That was... something.'

She could feel his erratic heartbeat against her chest, the feeling of his racing heart, his ragged breath against her face, exquisite. Because for a short moment, she felt like she had all of Tristan Dugray all to herself, as if they had gained a step on his demons, and for a short moment his fears were left a step behind. And it was a feeling worth every second of turmoil, a feeling worth every single risk she had taken so far. Because getting here, with him, like that, was something. It was something amazing worth fighting for.

'So you didn't lie,' he smirked then, moving to nuzzle her neck. His voice was still gravelly - not so much from physical exhaustion, but from arousal. She could feel his smile as his stubble grazed the skin of her cheek.

'You do love to be manhandled,' he smirked.

Paris closed her eyes, letting a content smile spill over her lips. Every now and then, his control slipped when he was around her. It thrilled her and alarmed him to no end. She loved driving him crazy, it made her feel alive, each cell of her body welcoming the newfound elation. And as alarmed and disconcerted losing control made Tristan feel, being driven to the edge made him feel alive too. Much more alive than he had ever let himself be. Against her thigh, she could feel him hardening again.

'If you ever take this to court, I'll deny.'

He smirked a wolfish grin and his voice dropped an octave,

'How about we take this to my bed first' he asked, leaning into her, moving to kiss her jaw and her neck while stepping out of his jeans. 'We can discuss your alibi while the neighbors get acquainted with the sound of your voice.'

'My voice?'

'Yeah, as I make you scream how much you need me inside you again,' he explained as he carried her towards his room.

She swatted his shoulder.

'What,' Tristan chuckled, 'I'm ensuring the witnesses. You're an extremely wicked woman after all,' he said as he rolled them onto his bed and her laughter rolled off her lips as he found a particularly ticklish place on her neck.

* * *

 **TBC**


	42. Everything You Didn't Know

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: A rather long chapter, conflicted and heart-twisting to write - hope you enjoy :) Reviews are a trip to Heaven, you know the drill. Loved it/hated it - be amazing, leave a word and let me know what you make of this :)**

* * *

Jess Mariano was standing in the middle of his kitchen, his eyelids only half open, not bothering to go up all the way. Outside, the city was humming with its constant evening buzz, the night August air providing a refreshing change compared to the scorching heat earlier today. Jess lifted the glass of water he had poured himself and gulped it down, welcoming the coolness down his throat.

It was well past one a.m. and Allie and Rory were sleeping in the bedroom. His daughter's sleeping habits had started to become more and more attuned to a bearable schedule, providing them with five to six hours of non-interrupted sleep per night. According to Lorelai, the kid was a golden child and she was spoiling her mom and dad only to give it back at a carefully chosen future moment when she would induce a wild tooth fiasco.

Lorelai had a weird sense of humor, often sounding like the mastermind behind some of the worst horror movies in film-making history and Jess suspected she was only doing this in order to test them, providing some strange reversed psychology effect once they found out real parenthood wasn't as creepy as grandma Lorelai liked to threaten. The combination of the words grandma and Lorelai in one sentence was Jess' small triumph, little drop of revenge bliss in the ocean of awkwardness Lorelai liked to create. It was as if making Jess uncomfortable was among her hobbies. She was always saying the most outrageous stuff in front of him, pretending to be unaware of the discomfort she induced. So, grandma Lorelai it was. A man could have his small joys in life, coulnd't he?

Earlier today he had been in the 24/7 to get some diapers and wet wipes when the cashier had decided to make small talk. The lady was probably in her mid forties and smiled warmly at Jess, asking him if he had a boy or a girl. He had answered 'girl' with as little enthusiasm for small talk as he could muster in one single word. But as in most similar cases, his reserved demeanor wasn't enough to cool the lady's enthusiasm. _How old is your daughter?_ , the cashier had asked.

 _Two months. My daughter just turned two months last week,_ Jess had thought.

And the very thought was somehow new and strangely flustering. He couldn't explain it. He felt tongue-tied, he felt flushed and dizzy, left a couple of bills over the cash desk and evacuated himself out of the place without waiting for his change. Outside, he had a quiet mini hyperventilation panic attack. He moved his jaw and lips, trying to say the words out loud.

 _My daughter._

His daughter. Allison Mariano, his daughter. He had a daughter. She was a living, breathing human, she had her own needs and interests and she was gonna develop as a person before his eyes. Before her father's eyes. He, Jess Mariano, was a father.

* * *

'What are you...' Tristan arched an eyebrow, looking at Rory's mobile suspiciously. 'Are you sexting?'

Rory continued scrolling through her mobile, her eyes narrowed.

'Mmm...hm.'

Whoa.

'With whom?'

Rory looked up, as if she got carried away and had missed some part of the conversation.

'With Jess of course.'

It was Tristan's turn to narrow his eyes.

'You're sexting with the father of your child?'

'Give me a synonym for engorged or leave me concentrate,' Rory said absently. 'My sleep-deprived brain can't focus on more than one thing at the moment.'

Tristan blinked, scratching his nape.

'Holy guacamole.'

Then he looked towards Cerberus who was sitting on his hind paws, carrying his leash between his teeth with a hopeful expression in his dark eyes.

'Ready, Cerberus?'

Cerberus wagged his tail.

Rory stared at her mobile for the umpteenth time today. Jess had been distracted. He had been tired ever since he returned to work after the time off he had taken to be with her and Allie. He had been a working dad for three weeks now. It was still new, but a routine had started to form. Jess tried to make himself useful as much as possible when he came back from work, even when he had had a killer shift. Time with Allie was something he consciously included in his daily routine, regardless of the circumstances. Rory was grateful. Of course she was. It was something most working dads were reluctant to do, once they had an excuse to let the mother handle all the baby business because they were tired from work. And Jess was tired. Rory knew he was. However, he insisted on taking a part in anything that could involve him in Allie's life. And apart from breastfeeding, actually there was plenty that could involve him.

He had been even more quiet than usual. Rory couldn't put her finger on it. He looked calm. There was a gleam in his eyes whenever she caught him looking at her and Allie when he thought they weren't looking. He looked like he was gonna burst with pride. She loved that look on his face. She knew he talked to Allie. She could hear his soft murmur from the next room, right before she dozed off on the nights when Jess put their daughter to sleep. His low even timbre lulled Rory to sleep extremely effectively. She could tell her father's voice made Allie feel at peace too. It wasn't some compliment meant to make Jess feel more useful, it was a plain fact. Allie was very perceptive of her father's presence and somehow she gravitated towards Jess, in her own subtle newborn way/ Rory loved to watch them together. She felt herself falling in love with Jess in his new role as a father to their daughter, and there were aspects of him she would've never known if they hadn't become parents.

However, there were other aspects to parenthood too. Sometimes Rory missed the time spent alone with Jess. She missed discussing work or arguing semantics with him. Jess was a very present father of their child but along with work and taking care of Allie there wasn't time for much else.  
Rory had noticed that after his first couple of shifts since Allie was born, Jess began coming home late. Sometimes it was one hour. Sometimes two. Once he came home three hours late and Rory had had a mini panic attack checking her watch every fifteen minutes until he walked through the door. It didn't help that Allie had been especially fidgety that day. Rory suspected their daughter simply reflected her mother's disposition. It was amazing how perceptive kids were, regardless their age. A nervous person touched, sounded, moved differently, because apprehension had the ability to ooze, and any kid any age was able to precept that. Both Gilmore girls had been at the verge of a nervous breakdown when Jess walked home that night, a couple of days ago. He tried to make jokes, attempting to make light of his girls' cranky mood, but Rory could see through his playful exterior, she could tell something was off. He looked guilty. Shit, he had come home looking guilty and Rory felt a growing panic take over her because he hadn't come clean yet. He had immersed himself into helping about everything Allie-related and he hadn't told Rory a word about what had been bothering him. And something had been.

'I'm taking him and the boys outside after our run, if that's okay...' Tristan paused, checking Rory's troubled expression. 'Rory, are you okay? You seem to zone off every five minutes.'

Rory looked up from her mobile, sobering. Half an hour. There could have been traffic. Or a surgery taking longer than planned. Or some crazy oversexed young intern straddling her almost husband's lap in the break room. Shit.

'Yeah,' she answered absently, checking her mobile again. No calls. No texts. No 'Want something from the daily, because that's why I'm coming home late again'.

'It's fine, Tristan, I'm beat that's all.'

Tristan didn't seem convinced but he wasn't gonna prod for more.

She could ask him if he'd seen Jess at work today. She could ask Tristan if he knew anything about a change in the surgical schedule that could explain why Jess was always late these days. She didn't. She wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to hear it from Jess firsthand or because she dreaded her reaction in front of Tristan.

'Take Cerberus with the boys,' she said, checking the time again. Thirty four minutes. 'He will appreciate some change.' she said, patting Cerberus' head. _Who wouldn't_?

'O-kay,' Tristan looked around, feeling a little awkward. 'I'll leave you to your... activities,' he ran a hand through his hair, nodding towards Rory's mobile. Then he was out of the door with a happy Cerberus at his heel.

* * *

'Tristan thinks we're sexting.'

Jess almost choked on his dinner.

'He suggested that's what I was doing checking my phone every five seconds,' Rory shrugged, fidgeting with the hands in her lap. 'I didn't correct him.'

Jess dabbed his mouth with a napkin and nodded slowly.

'O-kay.'

Rory looked at him. Her eyes roamed his handsome, beloved face. Her look wandered over his fit frame, over his shoulders. His biceps, wiry forearms. She realized she didn't remember what he felt like. The realization struck her and gave her a sudden boost of desperate courage to voice what was on her mind. Now or never right?

'You're often late from work these days,' she said, her voice so even it was almost robotic. When you were severely underslept and growingly neurotic, any attempts at nonchalance were initially doomed to fail, so at least she was trying, really trying not to sound hostile. She wanted to ask a question, not place blame. Which resulted in her sounding like some prerecorded text to voice software. Oh well.

'Rory,' Jess' face fell, the same sickening feeling settling in Rory's chest as she saw the guilt crossing his features. He didn't even think to mock her strange voice, her stupid question. It was stupid, was it not? It was stupid to suspect your almost husband when all he had ever been to you was loyal? It was stupid to doubt him. Unless it wasn't stupid. Unless it was the truth.

'Please tell me now,' she cut in, 'the dread is worse than knowing the truth, so please just be honest with me and tell me,' she pleaded, her eyes wide.

Jess stood up from the chair he had been sitting in and approached her, a concerned look over his face.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed, reaching a hand to touch her waist, his thumb sliding over her hipbone in a chaste caress. 'I...'

He ran a hand through his hair before he moved it to slide down her arm, looking for a way to comfort her.

Rory squeezed her eyes shut, feeling them well up.

'I've been taking a nap after work. I know it isn't fair towards you, but when I'm at home I sleep so lightly, the tiniest move wakes me up and I found that when I'm in the hospital I-'

Rory opened her eyes, shock written clearly in them.

'You've been taking a nap?' she asked in a frail voice, her shock giving way to utter disbelief. A couple of tears had rolled down her cheeks and Jess wiped them with his thumb, looking so uncomfortable he seemed like he would have a coronary any second now.

'Rory, I'm sorry, I know it's cheating and I should've been home with you and Allie but I've been feeling so groggy that-'

'You've been taking a nap in the break room,' Rory repeated, as if tasting the words. Then, as if remembering something, 'Alone, right?'

The look on Jess' face was so clueless, it answered her question. He looked so much like a deer caught in the headlights. Rory started laughing and threw her arms around him. She laughed so hard, her stomach hurt.

'I love you so much, Jess Mariano,' she laughed and cried and squeezed him in her arms. She squeezed him so tight, his 'You're not mad at me for sleeping in the hospital' came out breathless.

Her 'Not at all' and 'I'm calling mom to babysit this weekend' followed in between the kisses she had started to pepper his face with.

* * *

Tristan emerged from the bathroom, putting on a black tee with an orange Garfield print in the middle.

'I have some earth-shattering information to share.'

Paris shimmied into her skirt and tried to step into her heels while struggling with the zipper.

'You've been offered to become an STD poster model?' she random guessed.

'Only if you pose with me,' Tristan smirked, standing behind her and taking hold of her waist to hold her in place. 'It's stuck,' he said, his fingers working the fabric that had got caught on the zipper and letting it free, succeeding in pulling the zipper up. 'You've been saved, maiden. You can thank me in the oldest way known to man,' he said in a deeper voice, wiggling his eyebrows as he smacked her butt playfully.

Paris did her best to suppress a smirk, rolling her eyes.

'Perv.'

'Hot stuff,' he gave her a wink. 'It's not about me though. You know Rory and Jess are sexting?'

Paris' fingers paused in the middle of the buttoning up her blouse.

'Eh?'

Tristan's smirk grew even wider. He took his car key from the night table and checked the time on Paris' phone.

'Yep.'

'Yuk. But good for them. A little spice is good for the relationship if their time management as parents allows it. I remember hating sex for a while after Josh was born. It was frustrating to both me and Doyle but crazy mama hormones, lack of seep and engaging my breasts into the dairy industry didn't help my sex drive. Neither did Doyle's constant complaining when I reminded him that the Internet is full of free material meant for sex-deprived dads until their wives could say their own names without dozing off. I mean, you don't even need Wi-Fi nowadays - MTV provides enough action unless of course both of your arms get broken in a mad-wife-baseball-bat home accident. However, I hope Rory and Jess handle those times of sexual gloom and doom better.'

Paris took her purse from the neatly made bed and smoothed her hair in front of the bedroom mirror, dabbing her lips with her lipstick. She paused and turned back as she noticed Tristan's reflection browse through her mobile.

'Hey, what are you doing with my phone? If you're sexting yourself I'll kill you.'

'With a baseball bat, got it.'

Tristan smirked, seemingly engrossed in Paris' mobile.

'I noticed you have my contact subscribed under _Shania._ '

'I'll make sure to add _Observant_ in the contact details section,' Paris rolled her eyes, putting her hand forward, palm up in an expectant gesture. 'And you're not allowed to browse through my phone.'

'Mhm.'

'Do you hear me, Dugray,' Paris approached him, waving a forefinger in warning, 'I don't want pics of your private parts popping onscreen in the middle of an abdominal aneurysm surgery okay?'

'Ah, always obsessed with my private parts,' Tristan sighed theatrically, lifting is hand so the mobile was out of her reach.

Paris tried to sneak the phone out of his hand but as per usual Tristan escaped her attempt with nonchalant grace.

'Have you ever thought that your private parts aren't as swoon-worthy as you'd like them to be?' Paris asked, folding both arms before her chest.

'Never. My private parts are a stroke of luck,' he pointed out smugly, 'All witnesses will confirm.'

Paris' smile faltered.

All witnesses indeed. Hordes of female witnesses who were intimately acquainted with Tristan Dugray's private parts.

'I... didn't mean it like that,' Tristan mumbled, the humor in his voice dying off immediately. He had meant to tease her with the stroke of luck part but it had come out all wrong.

'No,' Paris shook her head hastily, 'it's okay. I shouldn't be paying attention, after all it's a package deal - I get you along with the stray women and silly jokes. I should've seen this coming. Let's get ready, the boys must be waiting downstairs.'

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, the lines of his face strained. What had he expected? His habits had to come up at some point. It wasn't like he had been wiped clean after they settled into this semblance of a relationship. Come to think of it, it wasn't necessarily a relationship. Affair? No, not affair. They weren't secretly sneaking around or anything. They were more of... friends with benefits? Friends with benefits who were almost living together, along with their children. Tristan wetted his lips. Paris seemed uncomfortable. It took a lot to make her feel self-conscious but for some reason she didn't lash out on him. She stood by her word - she took him along with his past and she took it in stride, not making a big deal about it. The least Tristan could do was play along.

They finished getting ready for work wordlessly, the lack of joking around producing a strained but bearable silence. They got these moments a lot lately, awkward but bearable silences, and both tried to attune to each other instead of pick up a fight. It was a fragile balance but it had worked so far.

As they got the boys to school and kindergarten, Tristan and Paris sat in the car, closing the driver and passenger doors as they rested back in their seats, each letting out a long sigh. Getting two young boys who were bubbling with energy somewhere in time was a strenuous task.

Tristan fastened his seat belt and started the engine, tossing his iPhone into Paris' lap.

'Look what I found.'

Paris gave him a suspicious look but pressed the play button on his phone's screen anyway. She narrowed her eyes as she heard the opening violin and guitar.

'Country?'

'Dark country,' Tristan pointed out as he backed off from the kindergarten's parking lot.

She listened to the deep raspy male vocal and the groovy beat of the instrumental. Her eyes widened in surprise.

'I don't hate it,' she uttered.

'I know, right?' Tristan nodded with a grin, his eyes shining. 'Lorenzo Lamas meets Johnny Cash. It's genius.'

'It sounds nasty,' Paris mused. 'I like it.'

Tristan was now grinning like a kid at Christmas. If you asked him, he had just won the lottery.

'Now I have to find a concerto that doesn't make you suicidal.'

His laugh was deep and reverberated through his chest. Paris could almost feel it in her own chest when he laughed like that, her lips unconsciously mirroring his grin.

'Good luck with that, shortcake.'

They walked into St Morrison's, his arm thrown over her shoulders. He was telling her about Aiden's history project about The Hundred Year's War and how Aiden was doing a series of drawings to picture the events. Tristan's head was tilted towards Paris, and he was gesturing with both hands, the free one and the one that was thrown over her shoulder. He was eagerly explaining something about the perks of period piece video games when he came to a halt. It was a stiffness in his whole body she felt, rather than him stopping abruptly, and maybe she was the one who stopped walking first rather than him, but they paused anyway.  
Paris looked up at him to see Tristan staring ahead in the general direction of the reception desk. His face was frozen into a rare lack of emotion. Apart from mild surprise, there was nothing there. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't blinking. He was meticulously unfazed.

Paris' look moved between Tristan and the reception desk once more. Then she felt him move - he resumed walking, his step only a little stiffer than before, his arm moving off of her shoulder to rest nonchalantly by his side. Tristan was standing a little taller than usual when he stopped by the reception desk to take his surgical schedule for the day.

'Morning Dr Dugray. Morning Dr Geller,' the receptionist girl smiled at them, giving them each a sheet of paper with the surgical schedule. Then she looked a little confused when she looked down at the patient's papers of the lady standing beside them on their side of the reception desk.

The woman seemed in her early fifties. Unmistakably good looking and elegant, she was obviously coming from high class. She wore a designer patchwork blouse that fit her skirt and stilettos perfectly and the handbag in her hand probably cost a small fortune. The woman practically screamed style and money. She had classically beautiful features. Blonde hair, elegant jawline. The cool politeness of a royalty. Paris felt a clutching feeling in her throat as her eyes lingered on the woman's profile. The striking familiarity of it brought an uneasy feeling into her stomach.

'Dr Dugray,' the receptionist looked between Tristan and the woman who didn't as much as bat an eye at him, 'I was just filling the papers for-' the girl looked between the papers and the woman again, then again at Tristan, obviously at a loss as to how to address the lady.

'Thank you, Lisa,' Tristan leaned over the counter, flashing her a thousand watt smile that left the poor girl totally starstruck. 'Killer glasses, by the way,' he touched his temple in a friendly salute, giving a nod towards the girl's glasses.

Lisa all but melted into a puddle, blushing fiercely, the apprehension about the socialite lady forgotten.

'The rim is new,' Lisa explained shyly.

With trademark athletic grace, Tristan pushed himself off the reception counter and tilted his head towards Paris.

'Dr Geller,' he gestured towards the opening sliding doors of the elevator, offering her his arm in oldfashioned gentleman-style, 'Shall we?'

Paris looked at him. His smile looked almost genuine. His nonchalance felt almost true. It made Paris sick.

Behind them, Lisa resumed her work over the lady's papers.

'Okay, Missis Dugray, I will need your signature here and then here...'

* * *

'I'm going out for a jog.'

Paris looked up from the book she had been reading. His voice hadn't been strained when he discussed The Hundred Year's War project with the boys over dinner earlier. He wasn't doing anything out of his usual routine. He went for a jog in the evenings. So he was going out for a jog. He hadn't sounded any different than every other time he said those exact same words to her before he went out for his evening jog.

Paris opened her mouth to speak, but realized Tristan was already out of the apartment. Tonight his jog took twice longer.

When he came back, he went straight into the upstairs bathroom to take a shower. Paris threw a look at the boys who were engrossed, playing a video game in the living room.

She went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

'Tristan?'

Nothing.

She could hear the shower running.

She took a breath and walked into the bathroom. Steam was coming out of the shower cabin, filling the whole bathroom with sticky haze. Paris took off her clothes, opened the shower cabin glass door and walked in.

Tristan was standing in the shower with his back towards her, his head hung low, forehead resting against the tiles. The water running down his back was scalding hot but he didn't seem to notice. His palms were resting against the tiles on both sides of the tap and he seemed to be somewhere in his own head.

Paris stepped further into the cabin, moving to stand behind him, sneaking both arms around his waist into a loose hug.

Tristan tensed for a moment, torn out of his thoughts. Paris didn't move, waiting. After a moment he seemed to ease into her hold, recognition taking him a little longer than usual but striking anyway.

'If you decide to talk, I'm here.'

He didn't reply. She wondered if he'd heard her. They stood like this for another moment. Then Paris placed a kiss against his shoulder blade before she took a step back and left. Tristan didn't stop her.

His voice wasn't any different. His jokes weren't coming in piles but when they did, they didn't sound fake. The whole day he had been Tristan, her friend with benefits who didn't seem to have a care in the world. Her friend with benefits who she almost lived with. They alternated between her place and his, the boys welcoming the frequent sleepovers without questioning the nature of their parents' relationship. The world seemed to be a much simpler place when you were a young boy.

When they went to bed later on, Paris tried to comfort him, to caress his face and side in a way that wordlessly conveyed tenderness and understanding, but he had been restless, his whole body wound up like a coil. At some point he had given up prying her hands away and had moved onto her with silent purpose, his body strong and demanding, his everpresent restraint seemingly forgotten. It had been raw and messy. He took and gave and then took more, moving with almost angry determination, getting lost in her.

'Are you...' Tristan swallowed, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair away from her face. 'Are you okay?'

He was leaning on his side looking at her, his eyes skimming her frame with worried precision.

'Did I hurt you?' His voice was quiet and hoarse. 'I...' his face shifted into a strained expression. Worry. Shame. Confusion. They were all there, struggling for superiority. 'I might have been a little rough.'

He sounded so worried and ashamed.

'No,' Paris' voice came calm as she lay on her pillow, looking up at the ceiling. 'Not physically,' she added after a moment's thought and Tristan's breath hitched.

He rested his head back against his own pillow and rubbed his face with both palms. Then he resumed his previous position leaning against his elbow, turning to face her.

'Paris.'

His voice was eternally soft, as if he was afraid anything he did could break her.

She turned her head so that their eyes met. He hadn't hurt her. Not physically. She had read the frustration in his body language and welcomed the honesty. If she had given him any indication that tonight was not okay, he would've stopped. She had no idea how she knew this but she did. She was sure.

'I wanted to avoid this,' Tristan said, his voice somber and remorseful. 'I... I'm not sure I have it in me. What you need... I'm not sure I have it.'

He didn't elaborate what 'it' was supposed to mean, but he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he meant. Some time ago, she thought she didn't have 'it' in her either. Turned out she'd been wrong.

'Do you have any idea how you hold on to me while we sleep?' she asked him, her tone firm and clipped, almost scolding.

'I-' he seemed apologetic, struggling to find the right words.

'You have it in you, Tristan,' Paris said with a weary sigh.

We're not giving up.

He looked conflicted. Ashamed. Apologetic. She hated seeing him like this. She knew he hated being like this. But she knew they were into uncharted territory. She was walking somewhere no one, even Tristan himself dared to acknowledge even existed. He was scared of being honest with himself about way too many things, and she forced honesty out of him. Neither of them was sure what they would find if they dug into his open wounds, raw and bleeding. And he had them. He had so many scars, so many open wounds he refused to acknowledge.

It was never supposed to be easy. No one ever promised Paris a silver lining. But she knew, inwardly she knew what she was doing was right. Paris Geller felt a newfound determination.

'Can you do something for me?' she asked.

Tristan's eyes moved over her face, his look a battle of hope and apprehension. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

'At least admit you still care about her.'

Tristan took a sharp breath.

'I don't-'

She cut him short, holding his gaze.

'You're not allowing yourself to act on it, but you're still hurting and you're angry because you still care,' Paris said calmly, her voice void of emotion. 'We're past the point where you can lie to yourself and get away with it.'

Tristan rested back against his pillow, lifting an arm to cover his face, pressing his elbow against his forehead. Paris could practically feel the frustration oozing off of him. Half an hour passed with neither of them speaking. Then another. Paris thought he had fallen asleep when his voice came so quiet she might have as well imagined it.

'I still care.'

They fell asleep without exchanging another word.

Paris learned something about Tristan Dugray today. She learned why he didn't drink. He was always the designated driver, sporting a beer he usually didn't even touch. He didn't get drunk. He didn't fall in love. He didn't let himself go and he didn't lose control. Tristan Dugray was dead set on not acknowledging that standing two feet from your own birth mother in front of a hospital reception desk and not exchanging a word was not okay. Feeling ashamed by your concern about your own mother and hiding the fact that first thing you did after said reception desk encounter was log into the hospital database system and find out your mother wasn't dying of anything incurable but was simply having her routine check-up, wasn't okay. She obviously didn't know you were working in this particular hospital. Well, why would she? You weren't on speaking terms so she didn't know anything about you anymore. Not that it would matter. Lilian Dugray woudn't go out of her way in order to not meet her birth son. She never went out of her way to be around him, so it made sense she wouldn't go out of her way to avoid him either. So why, why would you still care whether she knew anything about you anymore? Why would you feel helpless and pathetic, still hurting for this woman's attention thirty years later? Why would you dread that maybe you were just like her - maybe in addition to being the spitting image of Lilian Dugray, you inherited her heart of ice too? Maybe just like your heartless mother, you didn't have 'it' in you. Maybe you were just as incapable to let anyone in and would never find it in yourself to provide warmth and love for another human being.

So, Paris Geller found out why Tristan Dugray didn't drink and didn't fall in love. Tonight, she found out why he had built a whole personality around the idea of a nonchalant good-natured goof. Because that was something he could control. And Tristan Dugray needed control. Control made him feel safe. He needed to feel in control of a situation and his own emotions or he felt impossibly lost. Because his whole life he'd been hurting over the loss of a love he had been denied for no apparent reason, a love he didn't have the power to get back.

He was trying to play this game by his own terms but it wasn't working the way he wanted. Sleeping with countless nameless women didn't help. Having a chaste romance with an older woman who accidentally reminded him of his cold heartless socialite mother didn't help. Trying to keep his heart under lock in a safe prison when he felt he started developing feelings for his best friend didn't help. Nothing helped. And Paris was starting to see just how big of a mess Tristan Dugray was. And somehow, in the short span of a day, his mess had started to make so much more sense.

Earlier today, Dr Paris Geller had paid Lilian Dugray a short visit. A very short visit indeed.

'You didn't even look at him,' Paris had said, standing by the door of the exam room without entering.

Lilian Dugray had tilted her head to the side, her piercing blue eyes reminding Paris so much of Tristan's.

'He's better off without me,' she shrugged and then continued reading the interior design magazine in her lap.

Paris left the room without another word.

Tristan Dugray wasn't angry with his mother because he judged the way she had treated him. He was angry with himself because he still loved someone who had never possessed the capacity to love him back. Lilian Dugray never showed a warm feeling towards her son, steeling her heart for no apparent reason. And it had shattered a young boy's world, making him believe he wasn't worthy of being loved, making him believe he couldn't love and had nothing to offer in return for being loved. But it wasn't true. Tristan Dugray had 'it' in him. In fact, he had so much love and warmth in him, it was enough to make him hold a torch for a mother who had never reciprocated a single warm feeling towards him. He had so much to give, but he had grown to believ it wasn't worthy of anything.

 _He's better off without me._ You're better off without me. How many times had Paris heard those exact words from him? So maybe, after all, Tristan Dugray did take after more than his mother's looks.

And Paris wondered what kind of family Lilian Dugray came from, in order to become so convinced her love and warmth weren't worthy being mourned. She wondered what had steeled her heart to think that her own son would be better off without her in his life.

Everything you didn't know, it still made sense. When you did, it made perfect sense.

* * *

 **TBC**


	43. All The Leverage You Ever Need

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Finally, a Jess/Lit centered chapter. To everyone who had patiently waited for this - I hope you enjoy. Your reviews are the best motivation there is.**

 **WARNING : THIS IS A VERY M CHAPTER for various reasons. Be warned.  
**

 **To everyone who proceeds reading, I'd really like to know what you think. You know what to do.**

* * *

'Twenty-six male with abdominal gunshot wound, suicide attempt. Code blue in 3rd,' Helen informed as she found Jess at the nurse's station. He left the charts he had been doing and followed her, taking his surgical cap from his pocket.

'You know the scoop?' Dr Spencer, one of the elder anesthesiologists, asked as Jess entered the OR a couple of minutes later.

Martin Spencer was in his mid fifties, divorced, and incredibly nosy. If there was a piece of gossip around St Morrison's he didn't know about, the thing probably never really happened.

Jess only gave him a look above his surgical mask and put on the second pair of sterile surgical gloves the scrub nurse had prepared for him.

'He went to the apartment of his ex-girlfriend and shot her in the head, then took their one-year old daughter and caught a cab, told the driver to drive to a gas station out of the city. As they neared the gas station, the guy took his gun out of his pocket and tried to talk the cab driver into taking the child to the police, told him he was committing suicide and didn't want to hurt the child. He pleaded with the taxi driver to take the baby but the driver got panicked and didn't.'

Jess stood, holding the scalpel in his right hand, his whole body going rigid.

'Doctor Spencer, are we ready to proceed?' Jess asked in a low voice that held a lot of warning.

Everyone who had worked with Dr Mariano knew that he wasn't into chit-chat over the surgical table, so most colleagues kept their mouth shut unless asked. Dr Jess Mariano was all business, very collected, very in control, keeping his distance when operating on a patient. He was efficient and professional. Most colleagues respected his ability to be in charge in critical situations and tried not to get in his way in the rest of the time.

'He got out of the taxi, shot the child in the head and then shot himself in the gut,' Dr Spencer continued, seemingly enjoying the cringe of Dr Mariano's otherwise unperturbed face.

Slowly, Jess tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes dangerously blank.

'Are we ready to begin?' he asked Dr Spencer, his voice low and even.

Martin Spencer eyed Jess, his look roaming Jess' features in an almost amused fashion before giving him a slight nod.

'Sure, Dr Mariano. He's all yours.' Then, as if serving a long-awaited dessert, the anesthesiologist added. 'Both the mother and the child are dead.'

Jess didn't seem to listen anymore, his attention wholly occupied by the surgical field.

'Retractor,' Jess demanded. Then, with solemn precision, 'Cautery.'

* * *

'You okay, man?' Tristan entered the locker room and paused, eyeing Jess with silent concern.

Jess was leaning back against the wall, both of his hands in his pockets, his head resting back against the wall with his eyes closed.

'I heard you got a tough case,' Tristan said carefully. Then, as if making up his mind after studying Jess, he changed topic. 'Want a lift? I'm with the car.'

Jess hung his head back, thumping it back against the wall twice.

Tristan turned to give Jess another look, letting go of the back of his scrub shirt he had balled up to pull over his head. Instead of undressing, Tristan moved to stand beside Jess, resting back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, mirroring Jess' position.

They stood like that for a while, none of them rushing to end the silence. In a while Jess took in a deeper breath and let it out slowly.

'He'll live,' he said, something dark crossing his features.

Tristan studied the other man's profile. Jess' face was weary, his expression strained into his usual stoic calmness.

The whole cafeteria was buzzing with the news. Doctor Mariano had been called in 3rd to operate on 'the murderer'. He had saved the guy, doing the impossible to make sure the man would live, even as the man lost so much blood it got really bad and the rest of the staff had at some point given up on him, Dr Mariano had not once given up, leading the surgery to a successful end. There were comments referring to Jess as a med-bot, so ruthless and unemotional that even a spine-chilling murderer wasn't able to elicit a human emotion from him. Others were singing his praises, insisting that only a doctor who was fervently true to his Hippocratic oath could tend to a wounded patient and disregard said patient's backstory, going out of his way to save the life of a murderer. All in all, Jess was the talk of the day in St Morrison's, and Tristan could bet Mariano was less than eager to discuss the case.

Tristan's look moved towards Jess' closed fists, up towards his chest that moved with short controlled breaths. The guy was practically oozing frustration. Tristan suspected that his friend could use some sweating over the gym floor but knew better than to make unsolicited suggestions.

He'll live. That's what Jess had said. Tristan regarded Jess silently and asked himself if Mariano was a vengeful person. A small smirk lifted the ends of Tristan's mouth, remembering the beginning of their infamous bromance. Hell yeah. Jess Mariano was a vengeful bastard. A just one, but a bastard nonetheless.

The man who had put a bullet into his own child and her mother would live. This man would live to wake up day after day, the memory of what he did haunting him, getting him back to that moment where he pleaded with a taxi driver to take his one-year-old daughter to the police instead of leaving her with him because he felt what he was capable of doing. This man would live to burn in a hell of his own, because a hotshot ruthless surgeon went out of his way to make sure he would live to pay for what he did.

* * *

She stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

'You didn't have to. I could wash them later.'

Jess shrugged, taking the soaked plate from the sink and then circling it with the scourer.

'I don't mind.'

Her hands snaked around his torso, palms pressing against his pecs and abdomen, feeling the warmth of his skin.

Jess held his breath, his hands rinsing the plate in the sink pausing under the running water.

'Tell me about your day.' Rory said in a low, hypnotic voice.

'Huh?' he asked, distracted.

She slipped a hand under his tee and both of them let out a slow sigh at the sensation of her palm against his abs.

'You've been quietly brooding,' Rory said, pressing her lips against his nape, inhaling. Her fingertips slipped an inch under the belt of his jeans. The the short hairs on Jess' nape rose. 'Tell me what's on your mind,' she mumbled against his skin, feeling his whole chest deflate as he let out a long breath.

Jess stopped the running water and left the plate in the sink, turning to face her.

'Right now,' he murmured, his eyes clouded with desire as he lifted both hands to cradle her face, moving a stray hair behind her ear. 'I think we both can feel what's on my mind.'

His voice was deep and Rory felt his breath caress her face as he slid a hand down her side, pressing her flush against his body, letting her feel all the ways in which he reacted to her.

'You've been distracted,' Rory pressed her lips to the cotton of his tee covering his pecs. He was so warm, his skin emitting health, strength and heat. She had missed that.

She felt him exhale above her head, his breath fanning her hair. She looked up to find him pinching the bridge of his nose.

'I'm sorry last weekend was so... low-key,' he finished somberly, as if failing to find a better word.

Lorelai had come to babysit last weekend, taking Allie for long walks and spending as much time outside as possible, making a bunch of not-so-subtle hints about calling before coming back, in case she might 'interrupt something'. Rory had been secretly hoping there would be indeed something to interrupt, but both she and Jess had been so sleep-deprived and exhausted, they spent almost the whole weekend sleeping in. She didn't want to impose on him, so she didn't insinuate she was in fact disappointed with his lack of desire for funny business. In all truthfulness, he didn't look like he was into anything fun-related these days. He was always stoically calm, quietly contemplating. Rory was surprised to see he had noticed her disappointment, she thought she had covered it so well. But he had always been very attentive. She couldn't hide a thing from him if she tried.

'Please ignore my mom's innuendos,' Rory looked down shaking her head, smiling. 'She thinks she's funny, she means no harm.'

He moved a hand to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

'It's been a while,' he said quietly, his voice soft and apologetic.

Rory caught his hand and turned his palm towards her cheek, kissing the inside of his wrist.

'Talk to me, Jess,' she said with a small pleading smile, her eyes searching his.

He let out a deep sigh, his thumb tracing her lower lip.

'Sometimes I wake up and check if you and Allie are still breathing,' he admitted so quietly she had to strain her ears even though they were inches apart. His voice was low and sombre and his eyes reminded her of strong dark coffee.

'Why?' she asked, her voice careful not to press.

He smiled a small sour smile.

'I worry,' he confessed with the same self-deprecating smile, shrugging a shoulder.

Rory lifted a palm to cup his cheek and he leaned into her gesture for a moment before shaking his head once, as if opposing to some argument into his own inner debate. He was always having these. Rory's brows furrowed, her palm remaining against his cheek.

'About us?' Rory asked. 'Are you worried about me and Allie?'

Jess Mariano was big on protecting what he loved. It was no secret he would move heaven and earth to keep the ones he loved safe. He was known to jump in the way of a flying bullet to save her life. He had almost killed himself while trying to protect her from his blind bitter self. Jeez. If anyone would do anything in his power to keep her and their little daughter safe, it was him. So it was no surprise he would worry about the mother of his child and his daughter. They were his whole world.

'We're fine,' she said softly, her thumb caressing the angle of his jaw. 'In all honesty, we're much more than fine.'

Jess' eyes were troubled and his nostrils flared, a shiver running through his body.

'I've brought an innocent child into a world that is cruel, imperfect, unfair and will crush many of her dreams.'

A world where fathers killed their children because something possessed them to. A world where no matter what you did, you had no control over the consequences.

Rory tilted her head to the side, studying him. She wanted to reassure him, but she wasn't sure what brought that worry into him in the first place. Jess was always trying to be the stable, responsible one. He was one hell of a quiet sufferer, stoically meeting anything life threw at him.

'Jess,' she wetted her lips, 'you and I will teach our daughter to be strong and brave,' Rory told him. 'We will teach her to take care of herself, to have dreams of her own and to recollect herself when some of those dreams get crushed.'

She smiled a bittersweet smile as she saw how his guard started to fall, the stoic worry giving way to honest vulnerability.

'We're a family, Jess. We'll meet anything this cruel and unfair world has to offer and we'll withstand it as a family. You and me and our friends, we will serve as leverage for any harm this world may try to do to our little daughter as she grows. And she'll grow up - she'll grow up to be able to take care of herself, and in doing so, she'll teach you and me so many lessons on how to be strong and brave, she'll be so amazing, she'll take our breath away. Just give her time and she'll be all the leverage you ever need.'

Jess let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

'Allie is the luckiest kid to have you as her father,' Rory said calmly, slowly.

Jess squeezed his eyes shut, a raw emotion passing through him.

'I'm the luckiest woman to have you as my husband-to-be,' she smiled, going on.

The corners of Jess' mouth moved up and he rested his forehead against hers with a soft sigh.

They stood like that, breathing slowly, letting the air around them shift as relief settled in.

Her hands moved up to take hold of his head and she pressed herself flush against him, stepping up on her toes. Her fingers slowly caressed his nape and her voice was a seductive whisper fanning his lips.

'Tell me what you want, Jess,' she said in a thick, low voice, surprising both of them. 'Look at me and tell me what you want.'

Jess' eyes opened, his breath coming out short.

'You,' he exhaled, his voice strangled.

'Say it louder,' Rory murmured.

Jess swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to maintain control over his body's fast waking reaction.

'You,' he said in a gravelly voice that held so much hidden power it made Rory shiver. 'I want you.'

She took a breath, feeling braver, her own desire stirring, making her whole body buzz.

'How do you want me?' she asked against his lips. She felt him lean into her but she pulled an inch back, not letting him close the distance and engage her lips into a kiss. She let a small smile creep up her lips as he let out a quiet groan at her teasing.

'How do you want me, Jess?' she asked again, her voice calm and steady.

She could feel him swallow, could feel his whole body coil up.

Rory slid both of her hands from his nape down to his chest. Slowly, taking her time, she let her palms travel down his pecs to his toned abs, lingering for a moment before she slid them under his tee, feeling the soft hot skin there. Her thumbs pressed slow semicircles over his hips, then sunk lower, slipping under the belt of his jeans, exploring. As her thumbs slipped under the elastic band of his boxer briefs and brushed over the tip of his erection, Jess' breath hitched.

'Do you wish I'd rather stay away?' Rory mumbled against his ear, letting the tip of her tongue touch his earlobe before catching it between her lips, keeping it there for a moment before letting go. 'Do you wish I'd rather not touch you?' she prompted while making quick work of his belt, knowing fully well the answer.

'No,' Jess choked, his breath coming out in short gasps.

She could feel his hands grip onto her hips tighter as she pulled his boxer briefs down, freeing his erection.

'You sure?' she rubbed her nose along his jaw, lingering, while her palm moved to cup his raging hard-on, smirking as she felt him choke on a breath.

'Very sure,' he managed, his voice sounding like he had just crossed the Namib Desert.

'What do you want, Jess?' Rory didn't give up, moving back to nuzzle his neck as her palm pressed against him. She let a wet trail down his throat with the tip of her tongue. 'What do you wanna do to me?' she mumbled against his Adam's apple.

'Good Lord,' Jess hissed, his hands moving on their own accord to gather the skirt of her dress and bunch it up at her waist.

'What, Jess?' Rory moaned as he lifted her by the waist and perched her over the counter, moving to stand between her legs as he took the edge of her panties and moved them to the side, stopping at her entrance.

'Everything,' he breathed. 'I want everything with you.'

'Then what the hell are you waiting for?' Rory whispered, licking his lower lip.

And just like that, he slipped into her, both of them letting out a groan as he filled her up. Tingles broke out all over her skin and she took a sharp breath in.

'Are you okay?' he asked, his voice more hoarse than she'd ever heard him. His look was clouded over with desire as he sought her eyes, always making sure she was okay.

'What do you want, Jess?' Rory asked, her voice a breathy whimper, her own look flashing as she felt him twitch inside her. 'Let me feel what you want.'

He started to move and both of them groaned again.

'This is gonna be quick,' she heard him hiss as he created a frantic rhythm, eliciting loud gasps from her.

'Tell me,' he heard her over the thick lustful haze that fogged his mind.

'You,' he breathed, feeling his impending release. 'I want you.'

'You have me,' she said and right after that cried out, feeling her own release hit her full force. She took one of his hands and lifted it up, covering her mouth with his palm as she cried out at the new waves of pleasure. He thrust into her, their foreheads pressing against each other as she came apart all over the kitchen counter, muffling her cries with his palm. As the waves of her orgasm started to subside, she heard him let out a low curse and he pulled out of her, letting his warm release spurt over her belly and thighs as he shook with his own orgasm.

They stood motionless, breathing heavily with their foreheads resting against each other, letting reality slowly sink back in.

'We should've been doing this all the time,' she heard him say with a breathy chuckle.

Rory smirked too, trying to catch her own breath.

'You're telling me.'

Jess leaned in, catching her lips in a slow, sensual kiss, the first since he came back home from work today.

'I love you,' he whispered against her lips.

'I love you too, Mariano.'

They heard something shuffle through the baby monitor, and then Allie's voice as she fidgeted some more.

They shared a look, both of them grinning. Right at this moment, they had everything they could ever ask for.

Allie shuffled again, her voice sounding more impatient by the second.

'I'll go,' Jess smirked, pulling his boxer briefs and jeans up, buckling his belt as he left a kiss over Rory's lips before he headed for Allie's room.

'See,' Rory called after him, her voice light and happy, 'so young and already has the perfect timing. I told you she would rock.'

She heard him chuckle right before his voice sounded in a lower, deeper timbre, which she recognized as his Allie voice.

Life was often cruel and imperfect. But sometimes you got more than you ever bargained for, and in those times, it was all worth it.

* * *

 **TBC**


	44. The Love Was The Same

_Disclaimer_ : _Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: A very bittersweet chapter to write. Your reviews matter.  
**

* * *

His jaw was tense, his look focused, looking intent and haunted. Paris had woken up to find him sitting in the bed with his elbows resting over his knees, leaning forward. It looked like he had been sitting like this for a while.

Paris sat up next to him, studying him. It didn't look good. She took a bracing breath and let it out slowly. She had known their time was ticking. She had known it all along. The expiration date of this little joyride with elements of torment they had been taking, had been looming over them since day one. It had been everpresent, foreshadowing their relationship even before there was a relationship in the first place. Tristan had known it. Moreover, Paris had known it. Yet, she opted to take whatever she could get. It was as simple as that. If she could have little or nothing from him, she would at least have little, trying to dig and scrape, excavating her way into his soul. For all it was worth, Tristan had lasted even longer than she would've given him credit for. Three months. A small eternity.

'You can tell me,' she said somberly, quiet resignation flooding her voice, sitting with her knees drawn up next to her chest, leaning over to look at him. After a second's hesitation, she added, 'Whatever it is.'

'I...' Tristan licked a lip and looked up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the edges. Then again, running his fingers through the short locks, squeezing his fingers into a fist at his nape.

'I had a dream.'

He looked as helpless as she'd ever seen him.

'O-kay.'

In any other case Paris would have prepared to be led through the intricate smutty paths of Tristan's erotic dreaming, but something was off, had been off for a while. For a couple of days now something kept nagging at her senses. Like a small shift in your peripheral vision, something in Tristan's demeanor had shifted, he had become a tad sadder, a tad lost. He had been distracted, disappearing into his head, and she had noticed. Of course she had noticed. He had refused to address whatever was bothering him, so she waited. Maybe she had waited for, anticipated, dreaded this exact very moment. The moment when he realized he couldn't do this anymore. But first she had to hear what he had to say. Whatever it was. So she kept her eyes and ears open.

'It was one of those lucid dreams, you know...' his voice trailed off, as if going back there if even only in his mind, pained him.

'I know,' she said, her eye registering every little change in his face.

'There was a fire,' Tristan started, letting out a heavy breath. 'We were outside your apartment building, looking at the flames. You were standing next to me, and Aiden was sitting in a nearby ambulance.' He licked a lip and looked ahead, obviously lost in the memory. 'He was taken care of by the paramedics.'

The air between them had suddenly become heavy. Something was so off.

'What about Josh?' Paris asked, her voice strained.

Tristan rested his head in both palms and moved them to massage his temples, trying to relieve some of the tension.

'He was inside.' He cleared his throat. 'He was inside the burning building. You were standing right next to me and the look in your eyes...'

He stood straighter resting his arms against his knees, straightening his spine.

'I went over to Aiden and told him I loved him.'

Paris nodded slowly, her brows furrowing in concentration.

'Then I went into the building to look for Josh,' Tristan said so quietly, as if he were revealing one of his worst fears, as if he were admitting his most shameful secret.

Paris' brows furrowed even more, having trouble following.

'What?'

'I told my son that I loved him and that I was sorry. Then I went into a burning building to look for your son. Somehow, in my dream, I knew you couldn't move on from such a loss and I... had to go in.'

Tristan inhaled sharply and then scoffed.

'Do you realize how screwed up this is? I said goodbye to my own son so that I could go in and save yours.'

He was shaking his head, his expression tormented.

'I'm not ready for that kind of relationship,' he admitted solemnly, looking defeated, before he turned to face her. 'Please tell me you understand.'

That's what he was trying to tell her the other night, when she cut him off thinking he was about to tell her he wasn't right for her. It was _I'm not ready_. He wasn't ready. That's what he was trying to say. Not I'm not right for you. I'm not ready for you.

'Okay,' she reached out to place a palm behind his neck. 'I'm gonna hug you now.'

Paris pulled Tristan's head in against her shoulder and let herself breathe along with his deep exhale of relief.

She couldn't ignore another fact she'd noticed. He said 'not ready'. Not 'don't wanna'. Not ready. Like with time, maybe he was gonna get around the idea, just not now. Was he asking her to wait? Could she wait for him? What would they be waiting for exactly?

People accepted the love they thought they deserved. Tristan came from a cold dysfunctional household, whoring himself out of proportion because he thought that's what he deserved. Because he had a love denied for no apparent reason and he learned to protect himself from the prospect of ever being denied something he craved. And at some point he found himself facing a love he didn't know how to reciprocate. Maybe one day he would know how to do this. Maybe. But right now, it terrified him to no end. He knew how to be her friend. He had no idea how to be more. He needed time to figure it out. Please tell me you understand.

The way his arms had locked around her, the way he inhaled her, savoring the feeling, told her things he wasn't ready to face. Things that made him panic every five minutes. Things that he had been denied and learned to live without.

 _I understand, Tristan._

'Give me one night,' Paris said with newfound determination.

He pulled back to give her a confused look, his brow furrowing questioningly.

'One night,' Paris repeated. 'Before you put an end to our broken romance,' she gestured with her hand, slightly rolling her eyes before she looked him square in the eye dead serious. 'I want one night where you let me in, really allow yourself to get a taste of what it could be, then we go back to non-tactile territory.'

Tristan blinked, his ocean blue eyes digging holes in hers. His face was such a peculiar mixture of reluctance and apprehension.

'I don't wanna fall in love with you,' he whispered like a plea, his voice raw.

'I know,' Paris put a palm against his cheek and he closed his eyes, involuntarily leaning into her touch.

He didn't wanna fall in love with her. Hence the way he held on to her every night they fell asleep next to each other. Tristan could only be described as an aggressive hugger. Every time she woke up before him, he was all wrapped up around her, holding on as if his life depended on it. He didn't wanna fall in love with her. He was leaning into her palm, his eyes squeezing as if he were in some actual pain while he tried not to give in to the impulse to return the affection. Yet, he didn't wanna fall in love with her.

'It's not a matter of choice, Tristan,' she said softly.

And a little too late.

He opened his eyes to look at her, his eyes haunted in the semi-darkness. She held his look, her spine straight, her chin up.

'Open that closet for once and walk straight in. I'll be right beside you.'

 _I can also make for one hell of a hellhound, I'll scare off anyone who tries to offend you._

'What do you wanna know?' he asked.

'Everything.'

 _You can't run forever, Tristan._

'She left him,' he said, his voice so low and scratchy it sounded like it was coming from a distance.

He looked around the room, as if looking for an escape, then shaking his head and taking a steadying breath.

'Thirty-five years later, she left him.'

Who left who? Oh. _Oh_.

'He was a feeble-minded man who got in love with a pretty girl,' Tristan smiled a small self-deprecating smile, as if reminiscing. 'He waited for her to come back home after her shopping trips, knowing she had been in a hotel screwing his colleague's brains out. He waited for her anyway. When I tried to stand up to him and talk about that, he shut me up. He defended her, telling me they were content with the way they chose to lead their lives. When she understood about my standoff, she offered him to send me to Military School. God is my witness I offered them enough excuses to do so. He didn't object. They went on with their arrangement for thirteen more years. Thirteen more years of this, and she left him, thirty-five years into that marriage.'

Paris watched him, her mouth slightly agape. She wasn't exactly shocked. She was smart enough to get the gist of Tristan's home situation. The signs were all there. But what shook her was the sudden understanding how different their situations growing up had been. Because while she came from a distant, absent family, he came from a family that had been actively dysfunctional right before his eyes. He had been there for all of it, growing up. The impact had been so different, she now realized. Years of betrayal and quiet acceptance.

'When... when did you get the news?'

She had to ask, although she suspected the answer. She knew there had been a reason for his funk over three months ago when they went to that _Medical Malpractice_ conference in Boston.

'The day when we went to Boston.'

Something kept nagging at the back of her memory. Something he had said then. It had sounded so out of context, so random.

What was he had told her when she asked him what he was thinking about? Something about her explaining life semantics to Josh.

Can little boys like him feel big love? Yeah. That's the one. Tristan had remembered, word for word, what Paris Geller had told her four year old son about love and growing up. That while four year olds understood like hugging what you love, when you grew older you realized love meant responsibility. And four year olds thought holding on to what they loved was a testament to their love while grown ups learned to let what they loved free. The love was the same, people were the ones who changed. Jesus, Dugray. The love was the same, people were the ones who changed. He. His father. The love was the same. The betrayal was the same. Kids held on to their love while grown ups learned to let what they loved free. His father let his cheating mother free. Because thirty-five years later he still loved her the same. The same way Tristan couldn't not love her, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he wanted to despise his father for letting that woman stomp all over his heart, he couldn't because he realized just how much they were alike.

Paris had put a hand before her mouth, nipping on her lip, her eyes trying their best not to well up.

She took a breath and her look focused back on his, her emotions back in check.

'Tristan Dugray, I'm in love with you,' she said in a serious, typical Paris tone. As he opened his mouth to speak she put a palm over his mouth, shaking her head no. 'Shut up and listen.'

She took a breath.

'You're broken in many ways I never suspected, but even in your broken state you have found a million ways to shine and give love in every way that matters.'

Her fingers pressed against his lips as she felt them move.

'Let me make love to you,' she whispered and moved her hand away, cupping his cheek as she moved to straddle his lap, taking his face between her palms. He looked up at her, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide, taking in each little detail, his hands unconsciously finding their place at her waist.

His senses were screaming, alarmed and starved. He'd never let anyone this close, never put himself in a position to be dependent on someone's mercy. And the way she touched him, she gave and gave and gave, and his starved mind took and took and took. And for one night, he let her take the lead and show him what it would be like to be made love to. For one night, he mustered the risk to trust himself with someone else and place his fears behind, if only a step behind. Next morning would find him gripping onto her for dear life. Because the love was the same and it was the only kind of love a golden-haired golden-hearted little boy was capable of feeling. And as he grew up, he learned to let what he loved free. So, when he woke up the next morning, Tristan disentangled himself from her, pressed his lips to her hair and left.

* * *

 **TBC**


	45. All I've Wanted Is You

_Disclaimer_ : _Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: One more chapter to go and this season is about to wrap up. Thank you everyone - for faithfully reading, and especially to those of you who took the time to let me know their feelings throughout this journey. I hope you stay tuned for another ride, because season 4 of this story is already on its way :)**

 **WARNING** **: M for Jess getting explicit (don't say I didn't warn you). Enjoy ;)**

* * *

Rory let a breath out, looking around the garden where her mother and Paris were arguing about the height of the decorative arch.

'We're really doing this,' Rory exhaled, her face twisted in disbelief.

Jess threw her a sideways look, his eyes twinkling with what looked like pride.

'We're really doing this,' he smirked.

'Alright. Okay.' She nodded slowly. 'And there are veils. '

'There are veils.' Jess confirmed, nonplussed. 'There's always the prospect of eloping in Vegas,' he shrugged taking in Rory's obvious apprehension.

Rory gave him a look. He didn't look like he was necessarily joking. In fact, this wasn't the first time he had suggested this. Maybe he did want to elope in Vegas and get married by an Elvis. It would be over with in a blink. No fuss. No veils.

Rory shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking around again. From her place on the porch steps she could see the whole yard. It was a mess, with chairs and wedding decoration lying around, flowers and veils at different stages of preparation, her mother and Paris all but getting into a slap fight over the position of the arch. Oh well.

'You want this... right?' she asked.

Jess turned to look at her, incredulous.

'I mean,' she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wetting her lips. 'You've mentioned eloping in Vegas a couple of times already and,' she looked around, not daring to meet his eyes, 'I don't wanna overwhelm you or... blackmail you into marrying me with every citizen of Stars Hollow watching and clapping in excitement.'

Jess studied her, his face calm and unbothered.

'I don't mind,' he shrugged a shoulder, looking back at the yard and the ongoing preparations.

Rays of mid-afternoon September sun fell warm on their skin, the soft glow giving the house outlines a tilt of gold. Lorelai's back yard was buzzing with Star Hollow town folks, friends, some of their colleagues from the hospital also arriving.

Everyone took part in the preparations in their own way. Luke and Emily were supposed to look over Kevin and Allie, with Luke throwing pleading looks towards Lorelai every five minutes. Lorelai, however, was too preoccupied with adjusting the wedding arch, her argument with Paris forgotten once Tristan joined them and the two women suddenly got busy giving him instructions on how to move the thing, fixing it into the ground without snapping it in two. Obviously all they needed was a mediator. Sookie kept bringing more and more trays of finger food while Kirk was doing his best getting the outdoor sound system to work. Taylor was rehearsing his speech before miss Patty who was dozing in one of the lounge chairs.

'Look, if you don't want that,' she gestured around nervously, 'I would totally understand.'

Jess stood silently, seemingly contemplating, before he moved around to stand behind her with a couple of deliberate, unrushed strides.

'Do you know what I want?' he asked, his voice deep. 'You in white as I put my signature under that paper saying you're mine.'

His nose nuzzled her ear and a wave of shivers sped down her spine.

'I have been imagining having you in a wedding dress for a while now,' he continued, his tone going raspy. 'I imagine you walking down that aisle and wearing that dress, and right after we put those rings on each other's fingers, I imagine kissing you so hard, so thorough that people will start to whisper.'

His palms moved up and down to rub her arms and he lifted a hand to move her hair to the side, her exposed skin breaking out in goosebumps as she felt his breath on her neck.

'I imagine you will be surprised at first, but you will be so swept up by my lack of censor, so turned on by the way I'm moving onto you, you won't find it in yourself to protest,' he continued, smirking as she shivered. 'I imagine that instead of protesting, you would moan into my mouth forgetting there are people around.' His voice dropped even lower, 'Then I imagine taking you right there, bunching your wedding dress up, turning you around so that I can take you from behind,' he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. Rory let out an involuntary whimper. Jess slid his palms down to her hips and pressed her back against himself, emphasizing just how much he entertained the fantasy he was picturing. 'Then,' he continued, his voice gruff, 'I imagine turning you around and climbing you over my waist so that I can take you from another angle. And then,' he accompanied his words with turning her around so she was facing him, 'and then another,' he stepped between her legs so she could feel him intimately.

His palms moved up to cup her face, his forehead lowering against hers.

'I imagine I will be so hard I could go for hours,' his breath fanned her face.

'Jess...' Rory let out a helpless whimper, squeezing her eyes shut, not wanting to like his filthy whisper but loving every single word.

'I would tell you to look at me,' he continued in a low, raspy voice and she opened her eyes finding his pupils dilated - his coffee eyes turning a deep, sensual brown. 'I would tell you to look at your husband while he's fucking your brains out in the middle of your wedding party.'

'Ohmygod,' Rory choked on a breath and Jess covered her mouth with his in a slow, languid kiss, keeping her face between his palms as his tongue worked her mouth.

'Relax,' he murmured in a deep, soft voice as he drew back while she tried to catch her breath. He took both of her hands and put a kiss on each of her wrists before placing them around his neck. His thumb brushed her mouth before he leaned into her to whisper 'Have we established what I want?'

'Married sex?' she suggested in a weak, breathy attempt to be witty, feeling his breath as he chuckled against her ear.

'You,' he said then, his voice solid, his tone grounded as he nuzzled her neck, keeping her head between his palms reverently. 'Since that first day you walked into the ER, all I've wanted is you. In every way that I can possibly have you, I want you.'

Rory's breath caught, overwhelmed with relief, the previous unease in her chest completely dissolving as he brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek, their foreheads touching again.

'Sometimes I sit in our kitchen and look at my hand, thinking how a wedding ring would look on my ring finger,' he admitted quietly, making her look up draw back and look at him in surprise. He took her hand in his and lifted them to inspect, intertwining their fingers. 'And you know what I decide every time I think about it? That the answer is right,' he said, letting a smirk creep up his lips. 'It would look just right.'

Rory let out an exhale, something between a chuckle and a sob and threw both of her arms around his neck, squeezing him into a tight lipped kiss.

'It will,' she said as she drew back, grinning. 'It will look just right. I love you, Jess Mariano. I can't wait to become your wife and see what we're gonna do about that dirty mind of yours.'

She felt him exhale.

'Good. Because forcing you into a loveless marriage would totally suck.'

* * *

'I got the speech covered.'

That won him an honest chuckle.

'I'm so gonna blow their mind with my words of love and wisdom,' Tristan insisted.

'Oh, is that so?' Paris arched an eyebrow, sipping from her glass of champagne as her eyes skimmed over the guest party gathered around the tables scattered under the gazebo in the middle of the town square. The gazebo itself was covered in Christmas lights and served as a makeshift dancefloor.

'I'm the epitome of suave, ma'am,' Tristan gave her a wink.

'I thought you were the epitome of Aguilera's _Candyman,_ ' Paris deadpanned.

He shrugged.

'Well, that too.'

There was a pause, but this time it was charged with his insisting look.

'Do you trust me?' Tristan asked at last, his eyes set on hers intently, his voice quiet.

Paris huffed.

'Please.'

Tristan kept looking at her, his crystal blue eyes intent as he waited for an answer.

'Oh,' Paris sobered, licking a lip. 'You're really asking.'

She looked around at the guests, mainly Stars Hollowers, as well as a couple of colleagues from the hospital, pooling around the tables. People talking and clinking glasses of champagne, the air buzzing with joyful anticipation.

'Okay whatever,' she shrugged, 'You've always been the people charmer anyway.'

She turned to eye him, his silence unexpected when he could be easily pegged for the loud and cheering type, especially after he had just sneaked the best man speech from her.

'What's wrong?' she asked in a clipped no-nonsense voice. 'Did you suddenly realize I'm too generous for you to walk the same ground as?'

His whole expression brightened, the smile reaching his eyes and exploding. His face was so outstandingly handsome at this moment. Each time it felt like a revelation, how much happiness he could exude. The beauty of his laughter had nothing to do with his physical features, it was the light from within him that shone through.

Paris opened her mouth and then closed it. What... She had no idea what was going on.

'Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Your face is doing this weird happy thing,' she motioned around her face, 'It's scary.'

'You do trust me,' Tristan uttered, his smile widening even more if possible.

Jesus. Paris wanted to slap his self-content off. She really wanted to roll her eyes and nail him with one of her trademark deadpans. But she couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she felt the corners of her own mouth tug up.

Tristan Dugray was one of the good guys. Maybe one of the best. And his innate goodness somehow outshone everything else.

He looked so happy. Like he had finally crossed some invisible line, gotten somewhere he'd been unconsciously trying to get and now he was standing in the middle of a treasure island.

Paris felt a tug in her chest. She felt pride. Because she had brought that happiness out. And it had to be illegal for someone like Tristan Dugray to not be at their full shine.

'Come on, Mr Clown Is Us, we have to get you somewhere to rehearse because you need to rock that speech.'

* * *

 **TBC**


	46. All Is Right In The World

_Disclaimer : Nothing's mine._

 **A/N: Here it is, sweethearts - Season 3's Finale :) It's been such an emotional ride, and I'm infinitely happy that I shared it with you! I hope you'll stay tuned for Season 4, because it's gonna be up very soon! :) Thank you for being there and taking the time to read and review!  
**

* * *

'You nervous?' she asked as they stepped onto the makeshift dance floor with people applauding them.

Jess took her palm and kissed it once before placing it on his shoulder. He stepped forward so that their bodies aligned and their hips were touching, bringing her close enough so that she felt the warm solidity of his body against hers.

'Are _you_?' he rose an eyebrow.

Rory bit on her lip, her eyes darting to the side before returning on his.

'Everybody's watching,' she whispered, her nerves apparent in the way her voice trembled.

Jess held her a tad closer and leaned over her ear, whispering,

'Let them watch.'

Rory let out a shaky sigh.

'So you're not nervous.'

'I'm not nervous,' he let a slow smirk lift the corner of his mouth as he watched her, his eyes firmly set on hers as he swayed them over the dance floor. He was rock solid while she was shaking with nerves.

'You're not nervous,' Rory repeated, nodding to herself. 'And you're not imagining everybody naked.'

'If we don't count you, no I'm not,' he let out a low chuckle.

'We're married,' Rory whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

'Exactly.'

She looked up at him, her brows arched in question.

'We're married and you're dancing with me as my wife, our daughter is peacefully asleep in grandma Lorelai's arms and all is right in the world.'

'You just enjoy saying grandma Lorelai, don't you?'

'As I said, all is right in the world.'

'Did you think we would get here?'

'Do you mean Stars Hollow or do you mean get to this point in our lives where we're simply another cheesy newlywed couple?' he deadpanned.

Rory gave him a look. He shrugged with a smirk, turning them around as they continued to sway over the dance floor.

'I grew up with the idea that happiness is illusory, deceptive and ultimately - a lie,' he explained seriously, his eyes trailing on hers. 'I always thought it wasn't in the cards for me - that if something felt too good to be true it was simply not to be trusted.'

She bit her lip and looked at him, giving him her full attention. His eyes had turned a the color of hot brewed coffee.

The music started to fade and they slowed their movements, eventually coming to a halt.

'Since I met you' he continued, 'I've had a reason to anticipate every other day and happiness has become a-' he shrugged a shoulder, lifting a hand to brush a strand off her forehead, 'A possibility. Something that actually happens and I don't mind being a cheesy newlywed if it means that at the end of the day I'll be cheesy with you and enjoy the family we started.'

They were standing with their arms around each other, the applause of the wedding party guests dying out as they looked into each other's eyes. They realized that happiness was hard to get and at the best of times it was elusive. But right in this moment it was theirs and they let themselves enjoy the moment. Life would probably throw something their way sooner than later. But as long as it didn't crush them, they would be looking forward to more moments of pure happiness, just like this one. And this was a good place to start.

* * *

After her second glass of champagne, Dr Paris Geller realized something. She couldn't drink. Not anymore. Not tonight. Maybe later, when she got home and put Josh to sleep, she would open a bottle of wine and sip it alone on the sofa, but right now she and drinking were a bad idea. Very, very bad idea. Drinking made you lose focus. She needed discipline while alcohol made you lose control. In order not to make tonight awkward, she needed to filter her emotions very carefully, keep herself in check. Keep your distance. Keep things light and friendly. Of course. She could do that. It was Tristan, after all. Tristan Dugray, also known as King of the Land of the Light and Friendly.

Except that they had crossed that line a while ago and walked straight into the Land of Dark and Twisty. But she wouldn't let that minor detail bother her. Nope. Not bothered by Tristan Dugray's proximity. Not at all.

 _Do net get into touching range. Do not reach for him in any way. Physically or emotionally. And don't stare at his butt. Or his hips. He has such flexible hips. His rolled up shirt sleeves make his arms look even bigger. Oh jeepers. Focus, Paris._

She could do this. She could totally ignore how good he looked in his negligee outfit with his white shirt tucked into his chinos. And the suspenders - god, why - _why_ did he have to put on suspenders? _Okay now, focus. Think of his nose. He has an inadequate nose. His insufficient, inadequate nose. Focus on that. Yeah._

God, this was gonna be harder than she thought.

Paris threw a look at where Tristan was holding a soda, leisurely moving in time with the beat, his athletic grace always making his movements look seamless. She had to consciously restrain herself from walking up to him and snaking her arms around him, letting the need to feel him move, breathe, exist, take over.

Okay, Paris, enough. No more champagne for you tonight.

Sacrificing what you want for what is right. Is that how Tristan felt all the time? Well, it sucked. It sucked big time.

She looked at Rory and Jess on the dance floor. They had just finished their fist dance as a married couple and were standing with their arms around each other, looking at each other like the rest of the world didn't exist. Being able to feel that kind of love was a blessing. Paris tried to remember the last time she felt this kind of happiness. She looked at the champagne glass by her side longingly.

And then she heard her name from the speakers. That's right, Kirk was calling them out on the dance floor. The maid of honor and best man dance.

As their looks met while Kirk was babbling some supposedly funny joke, Paris mustered her best scornful look, meeting Tristan's arched brow, his eyes twinkling with amusement at her irritation. He left his soda to the side and walked towards her, his walk marked by his stupid natural athletic grace. She narrowed her eyes.

He stopped before her, making an exaggerated bow before offering his hand, still bent at the waist.

Oh hell with it.

Paris grabbed his hand and marched over to the dance floor, muttering something about him not finding it necessary to shave for the occasion, making it easier for her to look like the better looking best man out of the two.

 _Is it getting better, or do you feel the same..._

Paris stopped midstep and turned towards Kirk, opening her arms incredulously.

'Really?' she seethed, her eyes shooting daggers at the man while he shrugged apologetically and started rummaging through his disk collection, looking for something else to play.

 _Will it make it easier on you now, you got someone to blame..._

'I will kill him,' Paris snided, turning towards Tristan and putting one palm on his shoulder while he took her other hand in his. The amusement was washed away from his eyes. He looked at her, his eyes intent, careful. 'I will single-handedly, purposefully make him suffer, and then I will kill him, slice him piece by piece.'

 _Did I disappoint you or leave a bad taste in your mouth?_

She rolled her eyes and turned to Kirk, making a cutting gesture with her fingers before her throat. Kirk looked nervous and sweaty, putting disk after disk out of his disk holder.

 _You act like you never had love and you want me to go without..._

They moved slowly, her movements naturally robotic and his - purposefully stiff, keeping a respectable distance. They avoided eye contact as much as possible, and when their eyes did meet, she would roll hers at his carefully concerned demeanor. Everything had been just fine while they were bickering earlier, ignoring the pink elephant in the room, and no - the pink elephant wasn't an allegory for Miss Patty's outfit.

 _One...One_ _..._

As Bono and Mary J sang out their pain, Paris caught a glimpse of his face, Tristan's eyes intent on hers, trying to gauge her mood. The stylishly groomed beard, the military short cut hair, his insufficient nose and his eyes. Ah, his eyes. Once you got to know him, you realized just how expressive his eyes were. She looked down, trying to get hold of the swirl of emotions. She was Paris Geller. She could weather any storm. A dance with Tristan Dugray was hardly the thing that would kill her.

Nobody compared to him. The realization hit her with force, like a kick in the gut, followed by a bittersweet feeling spreading over her whole body. She inhaled, trying to brace herself, but all she got was his scent, ocean and wind, a free spirit looking to find his true place in the world, something rare and beautiful that wasn't hers to keep. She swayed a little, feeling dizzy, and his hold over her tightened immediately, stepping ahead to keep her steady. And just like that, the robo-swaying turned into an honest embrace. His arms were tight around her, his palms supporting her back, and she was gripping at his rolled up shirt sleeves with her forehead almost touching his chest, not daring to look up at him. She could feel him lean in and nuzzle her head, making her whole body break out in shivers. She stiffened. Squeezed her eyes. Tried to repeat the mantra 'kill Kirk' for a couple more times. Imagined Kirk being eaten by sharks. Or being tortured by snails. Being captivated by a group of Ariana Grande wannabes.

As the song was over, Paris broke out of his hold and hurried out of the hall.

'Paris...' Tristan followed after her, finding her in the garden.

'Give me a goddamn minute, will you?'

'I...' he rubbed both palms over his face and looked to the side before his eyes focused back on her, his hands resting back on his hips in a display of typical Tristan stoicism.

'Seriously, Tristan, if you have one sane neuron in that pretty boy head of yours, you're gonna shut up, go back inside and leave me the hell alone.'

He was looking at her intently, concerned and apologetic. She hated it. His concern. His apology. She wanted neither. And what she did want from him, he wasn't ready to give.

Her eyes flashed in warning before she took a deep breath and sighed,

'Please.'

Tristan stood for another moment, his hands still on his hips, the inward debate evident by the apprehensive look over his face. Then, as if finally reaching a decision, he nodded and after giving her one last remorseful look, got back inside.

Paris sat down on the porch, letting another sigh escape her chest. The night was quiet and warm. But then again, this was Stars Hollow. If you sneezed once the Mayor came instantly running, yelling 'bless you'. It was a quiet town, as quiet as quiet small towns came.

She felt something warm beside her thigh and turned to see Cerberus lie down and rest his head beside her on the steps.

'I hate angst,' Paris glared at the Labrador, as if he were the very reason for her frustration. 'It's stupid and indecisive and a complete waste of time.'

Cerberus blinked, his dark eyes looking up at her calmly.

'I can't be another airhead gawking up at him. Even _you_ should be able to understand that.'

Cerberus let out a short sigh and his wet nose touched Paris' knuckles.

'I can gawk at someone I don't know. Someone I will never have anyway. Someone hot. Don't look at me like that,' Paris arched an eyebrow. 'I know hot when I see hot. You know who's hot? Michael Fassbender is hot. Ryan Gosling is hot.'

She paused and looked at Cerberus' calm eyes.

'Oh please. It has nothing to do with both of them being blonde. What do you take me for?'

Cerberus made no sound to agree or disagree.

'I'm an acquired taste, mister,' she waved a finger before his eyes. 'That's right,' she nodded, as if to emphasize. 'An acquired taste. I'm potent and bitter and I come on too strong, knocking out the manliest of men,' she explained wisely. 'However, if you can survive me, you won't be able to get me out of your system, because every other woman after me will seem meek and feeble.'

Paris looked down at Cerberus to find him asleep next to her arm, snoring lightly.

'Oh whatever.'

'Mom?' a young boyish voice sounded behind her.

Josh approached her and Cerberus, sitting down on the highest step of the porch.

'You okay?' he asked.

'Sure. Why wouldn't I be?' Paris asked a little too enthusiastically.

Josh had eyes that strongly resembled hers and she realized just how piercing her look must seem to others when she focused those eyes on people with no-nonsense scrutiny. Josh had the same look in his eyes now.

'Rory and Jess seem happy,' Josh said, changing topic without breaking his gaze from his mother's.

Paris smiled a probably wobbly smile.

'They are.'

Josh nodded thoughtfully. He was only six years old and he already looked so grown up.

'Uncle Jess seems determined to stay.'

Paris' breath caught for a second before she gave her son a slow nod. Not every marriage was bound to fall apart. Josh had gotten that right.

'Tristan's speech was good,' Josh said then, surprising her again by changing topic. 'He made me laugh, your speech wasn't gonna make me laugh.' Josh continued, making Paris' eyebrows rise.

'You were so nervous about that speech, I'm glad he covered for you.'

Paris opened her mouth to explain that the case wasn't exactly this and she had given Tristan the speech because he was so very eager to be the one to deliver it... or wasn't he? Paris narrowed her eyes, remembering how nervous she was about that speech, how she of all people had a terrible stage-fright and the relief once it was decided the speech was gonna be Tristan's concern. Could it be possible that he had faked best man speech delivery enthusiasm in order to make it less stressful for her? This was ridiculous. But it was Tristan Dugray and ridiculous was always up his sleeve when he was concerned.

Paris blinked and looked at her son who was carefully studying her.

'You're a smart guy, you know that?' she smiled, smoothing his hair with her palm.

'I love you, mom,' Josh said. He said it so simply, so honestly, it made Paris still for a moment, overwhelmed by surprise. It wasn't that she thought her son didn't love her, but it was something like a family trait - he didn't particularly voice his feelings of love and attachment.

Josh stood up and bent to leave a kiss on his mother's cheek, offering her a hand.

'I came to ask you to dance with me,' he stated and somehow Paris' heart melted and recollected again. At this moment she realized she felt a bout of happiness she had been afraid was gonna be forever denied to her. It wasn't. It was right there, waiting for her to take his hand.

She smiled.

'I would love to.'

And took her son't hand, following him inside.

 **END OF SEASON 3**

* * *

 **TBC**


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